Lost
by JabberjayHeart
Summary: "Fiyero wanted to create the perfect place to break their sanities and destroy their identities. Each tribute will lose themselves within this arena." Welcome to the 120th Hunger Games!
1. Hall Of Fame Part One

**Hall Of Fame Part One.**

_And the world's gonna know your name._

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**Lost - The 120th Hunger Games.**

**Head of Communications Chandelier Sussan.**

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"You're late," Lenore berates as I come out of the elevator. She stands there, hands on her hips. "I get that you're still new to all of this, Chandelier, but that doesn't excuse tardiness."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just getting ready," I say, flipping my hair. "It takes a while to look good."

Lenore just grimaces as she walks ahead towards Fiyero's office where the Inner Circle has their meetings through the year, working out the arena. I follow, keeping the papers locked under one arm whilst I sip at some coffee in my cup. Lenore doesn't bother to hold the door open for me and it comes slamming into my face. I catch it last minute, sacrificing the papers. They fly towards the floor and I curse underneath my breath.

"Where is she?" I hear Fiyero's muffled voice.

"Lenore just let the door slam into her face," that's Hugo, snickering like the pre-teen female that he is. "I can't wait to see what has happened with her hair and that coffee. Bleached or what."

I growl under my breath as I fall to my knees. I push the door open harshly, catching sight of Liole closest to the door. "Help me then." I hiss.

Liole, being the good little submissive he is, quickly throws himself out of his chair and crawls towards me, scooping up some of the papers that I've lost. Great, they were all in a certain order and that spiteful bitch has ruined it for me. I get that she doesn't like me because of how I got the job - daddy being a good contact and name to use - but that doesn't give her an excuse to do this to me. Liole grabs whatever is leftover as I stand up.

"You should put a muzzle on her, Emulet," I glance at Fiyero's twin brother, pretty much the Peacekeeper between us. "She's becoming more and more spiteful," I don't bother to look at Lenore as I take Liole's seat. He gets up, adjusting his glasses as he looks at me. "I refuse to sit near her. You can, though."

Liole places the papers on the desk and quickly scurries to the opposite side of the room, next to Lenore. I quickly begin to sort the paperwork out as Hugo sniggers from my side.

"What do you want, pixie?" I hiss, staring at him with fury contained in my eyes.

He dramatically gasps, before smiling wickedly. "Pixie, well that's new," he smirks. "Your hair isn't stained brown from the coffee, I'm just shocked, that's all."

"Why would it? I can handle more than two things that don't include male genitalia, Hugo." I shoot back and his eyes quickly narrow. I smirk triumphantly.

"Children, please behave," Fiyero, the Head Gamemaker, cuts. "I have a headache as it is. I just want updates before I have to see Esmeralda tomorrow, then you can all go back to swinging your clubs at each other like district peasants," no-one argues against Fiyero. The only one to get that priveledge is Emulet, his younger twin brother. His golden-brown eyes snap to Liole and the little geek shrinks. "Details on the Mutts, Liole."

"I-I-I mananged to c-complete the r-requests. I r-ran into some problems, t-though," he stutters, a cute, stereotypical quirk that he's developed from the years of pressure, according to my father. "Y-You didn't give me m-m-much room to go into detail."

"You're not as needed this year Liole, you know that," Emulet confirms for him. Being the second-in-command, Emulet is the only one who really dabbles the arena idea with the Head Gamemaker. Our jobs as the Heads of divisions is to complete the requests. Liole, for example, is the Head of Muttations. "This arena doesn't require Mutts. It's more... psychological, this time around."

"Indeed brother," Fiyero confirms. I stare at the two and smirk. They're identical; only those close to them know the different. I barely do - it's only because Fiyero is sat in the larger chair whilst Emulet's is notably smaller. "What about you Lenore? You had a larger task than most."

"I managed to complete everything on request." she states smugly.

"Brown-noser," Hugo sing-songs. "Being a good little Head isn't going to get you promoted, Lenore."

Lenore snaps her eye in his direction. One eye is covered by her long, teal-coloured hair that just looks plain hideous. "Shut it, you little leech. At least I can do my job."

"I can do mine perfectly thank you, as well as balancing an active lifestyle," he says confidently. "I'm not a recluse like most, Lenore. So what was on the agenda yesterday? Petting and licking your twenty-or-so cats clean?" he flips a strand of bleach blonde hair from his eyes. "Or did you finally buy the pills to kill yourself?"

"Oh, I bought the pills with money I earned from this job, not working on the street corner like some." she bites back.

"Ahem to that." I add.

Hugo glares at me. "And you think you're better, bimbo? We all got here from talent, not spending our hours on our knees."

"And our backs. And on top of people." Lenore adds.

"G-Guys, p-p-"

"Shut it, Liole," Lenore snaps her hand in front of his face. "I mean, can you actually do your job properly, Chandelier?"

I glare at her. "I can, thank you very much. I'm as talented as you and then some."

"Wanna bet?" she calls me out.

"Bitch fight quite literally!" Hugo sing-songs again.

"Shut up!" me and Lenore shout in unison. "Grow a pair of balls rather than sucking them, Hugo." I add nastily.

"Be quiet!" Fiyero shouts and everyone quickly quiets. I hold my glare on Hugo, my nostrils flared. He leans back in his seat smugly, embracing his attitude through and through. "Chandelier, since Lenore thinks you can't do your job, can you please update us on your task?"

"Most certainly," I almost growl, sliding the papers across the table towards Fiyero and Emulet. "I have all the details there."

"Oh please, you're the Head of Communications. All you have to do is announce their deaths and send in the pretty little parachutes," Lenore rolls her eyes. "It's not exactly rocket science. Almost a fitting job for you considering."

"I'll have you know, Lenore," Emulet looks up. "It's a tougher job than most, or have you forgotten that I was Head of Communications before Chandelier?"

"Sorry Emulet." she shrinks back.

"Actually, Chandelier's job is the most important this year," Fiyero corrects them and I smile. He looks over the paperwork and grins. "You've outdone yourself. When I asked for it, I never expected you to go above and beyond. You've really incorporated it into the arena this year," he pauses. "This is just perfect."

"I have to do good in my first year as Head of Communications to make my mark," I smile triumphantly. "My identity is at stake here, after all."

"I'm sure Daddy can find you another job if you fail this." Lenore seethes.

I brush the comment off my shoulder, unable to think badly when I've just been complimented. This will be super awesome, I just know it. I flip my hair and fold my hands. Chandelier Sussan is going to stamp her mark with this year's arena.

Fiyero's idea was ingenious really. Esmeralda always told Fiyero that him and Emulet were identical, but their personalities weren't. He always mentioned that he shared his identity with Emulet from looking the same. Fiyero wanted to create the perfect place to break their sanities and destroy their identities. Each tribute will lose themselves within this arena, and my task will be one that causes all of Panem's inhabitants to quake in their boots.

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**This is the fourth instalment to the EsmeraldaVerse. If you are unfamiliar as to why we are at this stage, please look on my profile at the EsmeraldaVerse prologue to understand. If you want, there's a blog for the EsmeraldaVerse Victors called Collection of the Damned, also on my profile.**

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**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Your favourite "Head" as seen just here, and maybe why?**_

_**If you could become a "Head" of something within the Inner Circle, what would you want to be and why?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

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**Basically, the Inner Circle consists of six people, Gamemakers in their own rights. Each is in charge of a smaller team that creates the entire cast of Gamemakers (I'm going by the movie, considering there was loads!):**

**Head Gamemaker (Fiyero Arkham): you know their job already.**

**Second-in-Command (Emulet Arkham): they work alongside the Head Gamemaker, designing the arena and thus. When the Head Gamemaker no longer has the job, the Second-in-Command steps up for the position. Basically like a deputy. All the perks of Head Gamemaker without the expectations.**

**Head of Muttations (Liole Merwin): designs the Mutts to fit the arena. In charge of distribution, creation, quirks, control etc.**

**Head of Traps (Lenore Crook): designs the traps to fit the arena's style. In charge of distribution, creation, style etc.**

**Head of Weaponry (Hugo Valentine): chooses the weapons for the Cornucopia and around. Watches the private sessions for unique weapons i.e. tasers, coils etc. (for example, the year of Spiked Maces).**

**Head of Communications (Chandelier Sussan): sorts out parachutes, cannons, family interviews, what segments go to the final television cut, projections of the dead, arena notifications etc.**

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**The second instalment and blog will be next, once all tributes have been collected. This chapter was nothing more than a cheesy, filler way of introducing more Capitol-esque ways. Again, all spots have gone, sadly.**


	2. Hall Of Fame Part Two

**Hall Of Fame Part Two.**

_And the world's gonna know your name._

* * *

**Lost - The 120th Hunger Games.**

**Head of Communications Chandelier Sussan.**

* * *

Walking through the restaurant, everyone stares. I smile, lapping up the attention, waving lightly to one man with bright green hair that reminds me of Liole.

Being Angelo Sussan's daughter, I'm well-known in and out of my job. Unlike the other losers, I was in the limelight before taking the job. I had a social life; money, parties and power. I attended all the events. I sponsored many upon many tributes, even from a tender age. I remember one year in particular, I asked my Daddy for a bunch of money which I sent to the District Two female to pay for an injection of poison. She was my favourite and Daddy said that me and I were similar in personalities. She didn't win, though, and I remember crying because she died.

Now, I'm the one pulling the strings. I'm not ruthless or cruel, but I like my job. I chose the communications because I didn't want to be seen as ruthless. Unlike Liole or Lenore or Hugo, for that matter, I don't go out of my way to destroy the tributes' lives. Instead, I do all I can to help them; I don't really care for the peasants that much, but it's nice to know that my job is both important and yet not seen as inhumane. Over the years, not all Capitolites enjoy the Hunger Games - many started to switch views after the failed rebellion many years ago, and generations rooted up with similar views - so it's sometimes a touchy subject.

"Daddy!" I shout, waving across the tables of people. Daddy looks up, smiling between his wispy brown beard. I look at the woman. "As you can, my father is waiting and his name is Angelo Sussan," she freezes immediately, stepping aside. "Thank you."

I cross the distance in a few steps, holding up one end of my frilly, lavender dress. Daddy stands up, pulling out my seat for me.

"Here you go, my angel," he says and I giggle, my father being one for compliments. Mother always said that was how he won her over. "It's been too long."

"Of course it has, you've been on a business trip," I take a pause and play with the fork on the table. "H-How, how was District Eight?"

"Poor. Very, extremely poor," he smiles sadly. "I didn't expect it to be so bad, but it's as worse as the lower districts."

My eyes widen. "As poor? As in, just as bad conditions?"

"I wasn't exactly there to see the sights, but yes, just as bad conditions. It was a long trip, I'm just glad to be back to my luxuries and seeing my daughter's first Hunger Games!" he beams and I feel my heart swell in excitement, the older sensation about the district people evaporating quickly. "I heard from a little birdy that you have a large task on your shoulders?"

"Indeed," I grin with pride. "If everyone goes to plan, my task will make the entire Games. Honestly Daddy, it's nothing I've ever seen before and even Fiyero believes that Esmeralda will be astonished!"

Daddy smirks. "That must make you the envy of all the others."

"Definitely," I roll my eyes. "But, I'll give Lenore and Hugo a run for their money. They've had this job for years and whilst I might be new, I have my Daddy's competitive streak." I add with a wink.

He just laughs, and we fall into mindless conversation as we order. We clink glasses, catching up and enjoying the company that we rarely get anyone. With Mother dead and no siblings, we only have each other and no-one else. That's hard to balance when the only person in your life has to take constant business trips on behalf of the President.

That's why everyone knows my Daddy; he is the President's hand, so to speak. She trusts him the most, and often sends him out on tasks and trips to the districts. His latest trip is the constant thought in my mind. Everyone secretly knows why he was sent out, what with last year's Victor being from District Eight and being a very controversial year. Part of me wants to know how it all went, whilst the other part of me wants to avoid it as much as possible.

But it's Daddy's job; he asked me about mine, it's only polite.

As Daddy forks a piece of tender meat into his mouth, I cough. "H-How was it? How is he?" I bite down on my lip gently as he swallows. "Did everything go to plan or?"

He smiles sadly again. "Young Pippin is coping. He knows the rules, the deals, and he's promised to abide by them. I had Chiffon's word on it and Chiffon has always been more than rule-abiding for her district."

"Has he stopped the suicide attempts?" I can't help but blurt out.

Daddy sighs. "He isn't suicidal. It was a rash moment and nothing more, Pippin has assured me that. The emotions got to him and he reacted very poorly."

I nod slowly, seeing the wrinkles and lines tighten on his older face. Pippin Halland is only fifteen years old now, but he stirred up a ton of problems with his Hunger Games last year. Just as he poisoned the girl from District Eleven in the finale, he poised the knife over his chest and pushed it in. Felidae Glass had held on for as long as possible, waiting for him to either bleed out or for the girl to succumb to the poisons flooding her system, but just as her cannon crashed through the air, his was about to follow. All the tributes were about to die without a winner. The scene cut away and the hovercraft tried to save him. Hours they spent on his surgery, rumours say. He almost died a few times on the table.

I remember because Emulet was my boss at the time and he struggled to close the television from filming alive, and then he had to address Hermes Abbatone - the interviewer - and tell him to keep his mouth shut. Everything could've falled apart, and needing someone to blame, Esmeralda chose Pippin for trying to take his own life, for trying to be a martyr.

Daddy was to go out to District Eight and view Pippin, ensure that he was no threat and that he had no plans on starting a rebellion, much like what happened a few decades ago.

"But he's living okay then, yeah?" I ask, suddenly more aware. I felt bad for the little guy, I have to admit. The only tribute so far I yearned for besides that District Two female who failed me.

"He'll be fine. I'll report to Esmeralda tomorrow and tell her that Pippin has no plans on fighting the Capitol and in turn her." he confirms for me, and I release a held breath I never knew I was containing.

I lean closer, forcing my voice into a whisper. "Didn't they want to kill him in his sleep, cause of everything?" I ask.

Daddy gives me a wary eye but nods. "Yes, but let's not speak about it. They changed their minds after I broadcasted from District Eight, giving Esmeralda an update on his status and how he had no plans to rebel. Tomorrow, I'll confirm everything and we can brush the entire incident underneath the carpet."

I nod again. They wanted to kill him, to take his life and identity when the Hunger Games tries to do that already. They allow a Victor to show the districts their control, but even after that, even after Esmeralda didn't want both tributes dead, she was willing to kill him off. Hypocritical as she is, she wanted no Victor when he threatened to leave them with no Victor.

Pippin is under her control now. He has no identity anymore, because he simply was the District Eight male, and now, he's the District Eight Victor, Pippin Halland, the boy who almost broke tradition. Because, well, the last time they broke tradition, it definitely didn't go down so well.

"I'm nervous." I suddenly admit.

Daddy hums, looking up at me. "Why ever so?"

"Expectations," I bite down on my lower lip again, a sort of twisted comfort blanket. "Everyone will be wanting more and more from me after this. Lenore and Hugo will practically have the silver platter for my head ready," I pause. "Not to mention my status around here. People will know I failed."

"There's nothing to worry about, pudding. Everything will go smooth. As for your reputation, well," he laughs and my eyes instantly narrow. "Well it'll be exactly the same as before."

"Reassuring, Father."

"Pleasure," he smirks. "Anyway, if anything goes wrong, Esmeralda will want Fiyero's head, not your more magnificent one. With me as her hand, I hardly doubt she'd kill you off, otherwise she'd lose a trusted ally in myself."

"Awfully calm over the prospect that your daughter could die because of her job," I spit. The words leave my tongue hot and I instantly regret it. "I didn't mean it like that, you know."

He sighs. "I know. I am worried. I didn't even want you to get the promotion."

My heart suddenly clenches and it's almost like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving it bone dry. "Y-You didn't have anything to do with my promotion to Head?" I ask, holding the strength in my voice.

"No?" he seems puzzled; that doesn't make me feel anymore at ease. "Esmeralda said that you deserved the position, because of all your hard work. When Fiyero took the job, and Emulet got promoted, she said there was pretty much only you capable of doing it to Emulet's standards. Didn't you know this?"

"No, I assumed you had something to do with it," I feign a smile. Inside, though, I'm screaming. "W-When did Esmeralda t-tell you?" I can't even control the stuttering now.

"A day later, after I told her that Pippin was making progress and that he had no plans to rebel. Pudding, you look awfully pale. Is something up?" his face has contorted into worry now, but I quickly laugh the situation away, heartbeat in my ears, loud and clear.

"No, of course not. It's just... it's nice to know I was chosen for that, and not the last name."

I got promoted the day after Daddy had mentioned about Pippin Halland. There is no coincidence there; I'm like a hostage, used against my father. A bargaining chip. An object to be used. I didn't get the job for the sake of being good, I got the job to use against my father if Pippin ever did rebel. My father gave his word on Pippin's behalf - and Pippin could break that - and if so, I'm as good as dead as punishment for his inability to keep Pippin under the thumb.

I'm the collateral damage if things go wrong. I suddenly feel sick, bile swirling in my stomach.

I have no identity - I'm just Angelo Sussan's daughter, used against him and not for my supposed talent.

"Everything will be fine," Daddy reassures. "I'm sure that Esmeralda has big plans for you."

Indeed.

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**Expect the reapings between seven-ten days, and hopefully, one update a week should go to plan to get through pre-Games a lot quicker! Whichever day I update will be the weekly date.**

**Here, however, are your wonderful tributes for this story and underneath, information and such, like the blog and everything.**

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**List Of Tributes.**

**District One - Luxury.**

Male: Lancel Deimos, 17.

Female: Gloria Lavelle, 16.

**District Two - Masonry.**

Male: Cres Rhodes, 18.

Female: Andora Seville, 18.

**District Three - Technology.**

Male: Kristopher Midden, 15.

Female: Ampry Erfinder, 16.

**District Four - Fishing.**

Male: Austal Eridote, 16.

Female: Lakyn Vale, 18.

**District Five - Power.**

Male: Cliff Harlaw, 18.

Female: Ellery Haynes, 17.

**District Six - Transportation.**

Male: Rafe Corinthos, 16.

Female: Arietta Fenton, 17.

**District Seven - Lumber.**

Male: Jericho Castillo, 18.

Female: Rotem Everly, 17.

**District Eight - Textiles.**

Male: Joshua Kersey, 16.

Female: Bryony Dubois, 15.

**District Nine - Grain.**

Male: Stefan Rui, 18.

Female: Lyra Chambray, 12.

**District Ten - Livestock.**

Male: Wayne Fallows, 15.

Female: Asya Novik, 13.

**District Eleven - Agriculture.**

Male: Thorn Revan, 17.

Female: Caritta Husk, 16.

**District Twelve - Coal.**

Male: Micah Amaro, 17.

Female: Lucia Bailen, 18.

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******Hall Of Fame by The Script.**

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******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who are your favourite tributes from just a simple, first impression look at the blog? As in biased, judged impressions?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Blog is up! Feel free to check the Victors blog to see who your tribute's mentor is.**

**If there is any detail that you don't remember doing, I'm sorry. I've only edited things as I've seen fit and if I'm positive, nearly everyone knows. If I forgot to tell you, I'm sorry for that.**

**This bit is important.**

**I may tweak certain things about your character; the background might be edited to suit a certain purpose/plot, whilst the personality might be _slightly_ adjusted in order to make the character have their own voice and not seem like another. I've always done this, but I feel the need to actually address this to you this time everyone. Mainly because of a lot of my tributes suffer from some sort of social limitation, i.e. doesn't talk to others, finds it hard to approach or converse etc. and obviously, this is going to affect the story. Therefore, there's a slight possibility that if your tribute has this, it might be taken out to benefit the story. I will only edit things in your character if I believe it will fit and isn't a _huge_ part of their overall personality.**

**I hope everyone understands this and has no problem. If no-one talked to each other, I'd have no alliances!**


	3. Save The World Tonight

**Save The World Tonight.**

_Who's gonna save the world tonight? Who's gonna bring you back to life?_

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**District One.**

* * *

The stylists were led into the room by the Avox, going in by their pairs. Mesmer clung to Pallas like he was her lifeline, which to be honest, he was. Nobody liked Mesmer within the stylist community, where the best of the best got to butt heads and angle their designs, and it was really all her fault.

"Sonnet's doing it again," she whispered into Pallas' ear. He hummed, staring in the direction of said witch. "Look, she's trying to be subtle, but that stare is constant."

"Well you're not exactly popular Mes," Pallas argued. "If you were nicer, people would be the same," he guided her into the red velveteen booth, much like the gentleman that Pallas was, before taking his seat. "Just say hi to her. Make an effort."

Sonnet passed the pair - heading towards the booth labelled District Four Stylists - with her green-blue hair tied into a ponytail. Mesmer wanted to pull it, but instead, she lightly coughed to catch Sonnet's attention. Feeling Pallas' eyes on her, she took a deep breath and looked Sonnet down. "How are you today? Excited about the tributes?" she asked forcefully.

"Bite me you half-assed wench." Sonnet seethed, walking ahead. Dorfin, her stylist, didn't even apologise; he smirked and nodded proudly.

"See? This is why I don't bother," Mesmer grumbled. "Should've just pulled that damn ponytail. What is she thinking with that? Looks like a damn toddler. Paedophiles would love her look." she added with a swish of her hair.

Pallas sighed. Getting through to her was hopeless, and being her fellow district stylist, he was often placed in the same boat and rejected by most. It sucked; Pallas was genuinely a nice person as well.

The other stylists poured in and he kept his eyes glued to the large plasma screen, wishing it along.

The screen came abuzz, darkness fading to light. The Reapings had already happened and the tributes were on their way as they sat and sipped their champagne or win, but this was the luxury of the lifestyle and they deserved it.

District One was beautiful, Pallas had to admit. Mesmer often said how she'd love to be a part of their community, rather than the Capitol; Pallas knew it was only because everyone hated her, including her family. Why? Mesmer was just an unpleasant person by nature. Nothing could change her. The trees wavered and the sky blossomed blue. Mansions made of red-brick and the Kingston Academy looming in the edges of the screen, District One was the epitome of perfection, just as they prided themselves on.

The escort silently walked towards the bowl and Pallas noted how Mesmer leaned more in her seat. Mesmer preferred the females since she said that there was more to work with. Pallas was fine with that; he liked the challenge in making the boys stand out more anyway. The escort flipped the female's slip open. They always blurred that part out if it was a volunteer next. It panned out, revealing two girls heading to the front - one walking whilst the other ran from further back - before the further female back had beat the other. The other girl naturally looked mortified and screamed, the piercing echo making Pallas' spine shiver.

"Great. She's short. Everything will need heels now," Mesmer complained. "I suppose it's good that she's blonde. Every colour just compliments them."

Pallas sighed. Mesmer was only proving her worth as high maintenance.

The escort asked the girl her name, which she replied as Gloria Lavelle. "That's a pretty name," Mesmer commented. "Okay, I take it back. The height isn't so bad. I guess I can work with the shrimp."

The escort went and collected the male's slip. It would be a volunteer, Pallas knew that much. Last year, he was stuck with the male - another volunteer - who just so happened to believe that he was the best thing since sliced bread. Volunteers always had the largest of egos. Once again, the name was beeped out, only to be revealed by a dirty-looking boy jogging towards the stage. He was unkept and messy - like he lived on the streets - but he still boldly claimed the microphone to announce his name as Lancel Deimos, in tune with a female in the audience screaming once more. Pallas liked that; he was bold and brash.

"Sonnet is giving me evils again." Mesmer commented. Pallas never understood why she cared so much.

"I guess she's jealous of your tribute. Can only imagine what she will have," Pallas responded. "Are you happy with your selection?" Pallas brushed a strand of Mesmer's red hair from her eyes.

"I am," she answered honestly. She could've been worse; she could've been as dirty as the boy. "I don't need to ask about you. I can see the gears whirling inside your mind."

Pallas smirked. "I'm thinking bronze suits with black shirts and white ties."

* * *

**District Two.**

* * *

Violet was appreciative of Jasa's help. Violet was new and frankly, it scared her knowing that the first tribute she would style, it would be a Career. The pressure was on because nobody ever knew of how strong Evander Rocque's grip was on Capitolites. Jasa had grown used to it - decades of working, even older than the new order itself - and had grown weary of their attitudes. She was yet to have met a District Two Career who didn't expect everything on a silver platter.

"I'm so nervous," Violet admitted. She sheepishly brushed her light purple hair from her eyes. "What if they hate my ideas?"

"I'll give everything a second look over. Don't panic." Jasa comforted her, not looking in the younger girl's direction. Despite the wait between districts, Jasa could hear the other stylists gossiping. At one point, Delorean from District Eleven had remarked something about Angeline from District Seven's look and that caused a stir between the warring stylists. They were all immature.

The screen switched now. District Two's first notable attraction was their Training Centre, rebuilt from the fallen ashes of the previous one. Evander Rocque now ran it solely on his own, his partner Signus Stone having died from a serious disease. Even Capitolites tried to pay their way into a tour, though the President still kept that under lock; the Training Centre was no longer a secret, but it had to be kept on the straight and narrow and not become commercialised.

Their trainees were tougher. Not only did District Two have the largest number of Victors, but it had the most funds. District Two equalled District One on money.

"Here they come," Violet commented quietly, and on time, the trainees poured from the Training Centre nearby, mixing in with the bored children who didn't attend. "That one looks ferocious." Violet added, pointing at a particular dark-skinned boy who was snarling as he walked towards the pens.

"Violet, quiet please." Jasa said and Violet quieted. She needed to focus.

The escort was quick on the stage, puttering around. Her heels are far too large and she looked like she might stumble over. Jasa didn't like the look; it was nice, but not practical and that is what mattered first in Jasa's opinion.

The name was blurred but the chosen one had moved forward already. It was the male, this time, compared to District One.

Jasa held her breath. He looked common and stereotypical, which meant that Violet would be even more worried now. The boy was stone-faced and hard-eyed, determined steps taking him to his feet. For a volunteer, he didn't look too happy, Jasa had noted. Violet didn't care about that, he just looked intimidated. The escort had to literally thrust the microphone in his hand before he introduced himself as Cres Rhodes.

"I'll take him," Jasa said with a sympathetic sigh. "I'm sure the female will be easier to handle. Don't panic, dear, this is what will happen ever year you're asked to design for," Violet nodded. "Now buck your ideas up."

The escort had taken the female's slip on the way, leaving Cres on stage. Jasa secretly hoped for an easier tribute, just to soothe Violet's worried soul.

The name was blurred; Jasa leaned closer whilst Violet shrunk back.

"I hope it's an evil one," Delorean commented loudly, gaining looks. Jasa rolled her eyes. "A psychopath would be nice. They all look boring so far!"

A lithe girl with blonde hair moved between the crowds, her eyes hardened but nose turned up. Her face was composed and collected, almost like the face of someone with a plan and confidence to back it up. Violet grew more tense, almost sinking into the seat. The girl took the microphone with a face of disdain before introducing herself as Andora Seville.

"That's a lovely name." Jasa said, hoping to lighten Violet up. When she looked, the lavender-haired girl only nodded curtly.

It was going to be a long year, Jasa thought. With a skittish Violet and clearly typical Careers, it looked to be a painful experience for all. Next year equalled retirement at this rate.

* * *

**District Three.**

* * *

The screen flipped again, revealing Mackenzie's favourite district. He loved having District Three because they gave him the best technology possible. Their tribute might've been often scrawny and poverty-ridden, but at least they produced nice things for his living. Sephora was too sweet to openly agree, but Mackenzie knew that she felt exactly the same.

He could try to talk to her, but Sephora would probably not listen.

District Three was notably gloomier than other districts. Mackenzie didn't even know where it was located within Panem's structure, but the picture every year was always the same; dark and depressing, with grey skies and a constant drift of black smog from the overworked factories. It was a smaller district too, compared to the likes of District Four or Seven, with houses packed upon each other in neat streets. Besides the haunting picture, it looked rather friendly and like a large community.

"Wouldn't you ever want to visit, Sephora?" Mackenzie asked on a whim. Something about the area stirred his heart and made him yearn for it.

"I've visited a couple of times," she replied. "When Micro Wheeler won, I personally attended to sort out his outfits for the Victory Tour. I also went for Mercury Molass' wedding with her wedding dress in tow," Sephora turned around. "I've been there more times than I can count."

"It's probably better than District Eight," a voice came from the booth over. Mackenzie leaned around, looking at Spring, the stylist for said district. "I was there for a year organising Pippin Halland's outfit. I spent a lot of time with Angelo Sussan, too. He was a lovely man but he did scare me a lot. Not to mention District Eight's current status as on the bread line."

"Isn't most of the districts?" Mackenzie asked, curious. By this point, Sephora had already dropped from the conversation, focused on the screen. "I always imagined them all poor apart from the likes of the Career districts."

Spring shook her head. "District Five isn't as poor as it used to be. Power has become more demanding since then."

Spring knew a lot about the districts; she was what you would call as an adventurer historian, learning as much as she could. Mackenzie awed the way she knew so much. "Who are the poorer districts?" he questioned.

"Districts Nine, Ten, Eleven and Twelve, as well as Eight as of recent years. I hear District Seven is slipping up as well."

Mackenzie was about to ask more when Sephora hushed him. Spring smiled coyly, miming that she'd tell him more after. He nodded, proud, and returned his gaze to the screen to hear the male's name be called out. Kristopher Midden, apparently. No volunteer but then again, that was no surprise.

A boy with gleaming orange hair and blue eyes walked towards the stage, calm and collected. His lips were broke into a smile and his arms swung casually, cocky, almost like he knew it would happen. Mackenzie couldn't believe it and even Sephora had hummed in admiration. He smirked directly at the camera as it floated pass him.

"He's probably got the world on his shoulders," Sephora said thoughtfully. "Either that or he really doesn't mind entering," she paused, adding: "I suppose they might have a shot."

Mackenzie agreed. Should he ask for Kristopher? It seemed almost rude to quickly take the boy who seemed collected and Mackenzie bit down on his lip, pondering his decision as the escort collected the girl's name. Once again, no volunteer as her name chirped through the screen as Ampry Erfinder. The camera quickly panned out towards a girl with short hair and wide eyes. Nobody expected the girl to suddenly jerk her finger at the girl next to her, miming something else. The other girl looked furious, spinning around with a snarl. She leaped and punched, the two girls falling towards the floor.

"Cat fight!" a voice in the packed room called out, but Mackenzie didn't know who. He was too busy watching the screen with careful eyes. Which girl was it?

A Peacekeeper trotted down the aisle and ripped a girl up onto her feet, revealing a bloody nose. Mackenzie cringed; if it's broken, that's more work. The Peacekeeper pushed the accuser forward, revealing Ampry's tactic.

"She's cunning alright," Sephora remarked. "I think I'll take her. She seems... timid. I've always had a soft spot for them. Do you mind Kristopher?"

"No." Mackenzie replied honestly. He was happy that Kristopher was his tribute to style; Ampry seemed to be more than he could handle, and he just didn't like the hassle.

The camera ascended on the two tributes, standing there together; Kristopher waving at the camera, eyes bright, whilst Ampry had her head leaned back, fingers pinched on her nose to stop the bleeding. So far, Mackenzie had to admit, District Three was the most exciting. Despite the weather, they shined.

* * *

**District Four.**

* * *

"You're still glaring," Dorfin smirked, his arms crossed over his chest. Sonnet simply ignored him. "Sonnet, Mesmer isn't going to disappear if you keep staring. It'll only make her uncomfortable and that's not achieving anything."

Sonnet snapped her head back, green-blue ponytail catching Dorfin in the face. "Maybe I want her to feel uncomfortable?" she challenged him.

Dorfin didn't understand Sonnet's hatred with Mesmer, but he didn't dare question her either. Like the loyal giant he was, Dorfin stuck by whoever his fellow district stylist was, arms locked and tongue ready to lash out. He was good, that way, but it also had negatives that people - mainly Sonnet - exploited when it suited them.

Dorfin ran a hand over his black mohawk, ensuring that it was truly spiked. People said he looked like a shark; he couldn't believe the amount of irony behind all of his choices.

"I hope mine is prettier." Sonnet commented.

"Who says you'll get the female? What if I want her?" Dorfin argued, though he would let Sonnet have whatever she liked.

"I did. Now shut up, it's starting."

The sea was the most beautiful thing Dorfin had ever seen. It truly blew any other sight out of the water, funny enough. He felt like he could smell the salt in the air. District Four didn't have a set place for Careers to fight, but rather many different fisherman huts that could have held anything. With wooden sides and white-washed pebble roofs, it could conceal anything.

The escort had picked up the male's name before Dorfin had realised. Sonnet leaned back in her chair, careful to never let her eyes waver from Mesmer's body. She didn't care for the male whatsoever and she knew how to twist and poke at Dorfin's buttons to get what she wanted. The name was beeped out confirming the obvious.

A boy had moved to the front rather swiftly, in Dorfin's opinion. It wasn't even a dash or a crazed sprint, but rather one with calculated thought and precision. Dorfin could see it in his eyes; Sonnet just didn't care. He mounted the stage and a lady's scream pierced the air, causing many stylists to wince once more. This year was proving to have tributes with worried relatives.

He looked at the escort and the microphone, as if he couldn't put the two together. She had to literally force the microphone to his lips in order to get any noise, in which he croaked out his name as Austal Eridote. Everyone was puzzled by his lack of social skills and the way he seemed to withdraw on himself. Sonnet scoffed, proud that she had selected ahead of time; Dorfin could have the weirdo whenever he wanted.

The escort, confused, claimed the female's slip. Before the words or the telltale bleep could happen, a girl was parading towards the front, her hair flipping and her lips broke out into the most glorious smile. She was a Career since she was proud of herself. Lakyn Vale, her name was.

"She's beyond better than the shrimp from District One." Sonnet sneered.

"I heard that." Mesmer commented.

"You were meant to, you wench," she called back. Mesmer was just jealous, Sonnet thought. Served the bitch right. "Happy with your boy?" she soon asked Dorfin.

"Tremendously." he smiled, though for once, he wasn't. Sonnet claiming everything she wanted was soon getting on his nerves. But, being the guy he was, he kept it under wraps.

He couldn't betray her, even if it meant putting himself last. He wasn't that kind of guy, even he wished he was. He just wanted to escape to the sea, where he could be as selfish as he wanted. He thought he'd fit in perfectly, even if he couldn't swim. Maybe he should transfer. Dorfin looked up, the knot of guilt in his body twisting. Tempra from District Five or, if he wanted to stay in the Career line-up, he could just take little Violet from District Two. She would let him make his own decisions and he'd still be sweet to her.

"Oh, cheer up," Sonnet suddenly clung to his arm, her voice sweet on those rare occasions. She knew when to push those buttons. "Next year, I'll let you choose, I promise."

* * *

**District Five.**

* * *

District Five, the district built to store and harness power, was going up in the world. Regis, the ever socialite, had heard from fellow Capitolites on how this new energy had come into play, becoming a growing trend in the Capitol. Because of the constant demands and need to make more, District Five's economy had become better. He was glad; it was about time District Five had better luck. The stage was shadowed by the looming power plants and factories that smothered the majority of the district, leaving a small square for the children.

It didn't help that District Five was the smallest district, Regis thought.

With each good thought came a bad one. District Five's citizens were as smart as District Three, but often overshadowed. It was good that they were branching out, making names for themselves.

He slowly linked his fingers as the screen switched from sea to solar. Regis personally knew the escort - having worked alongside her for many years, before her sudden change in career path - and considered her a friend. He often would design her new clothes for each Reaping. She carefully drew the male's slip from the bowl and proceeded back to the microphone. Instantly, he felt Tempra stiffen at his side, a sign that she would class as intuition. She said she knew which tribute would be better for her on that feeling alone.

Maybe Tempra should've been a District Five citizen, Regis thought again though his eyes never left the large screen.

His name was loud and clear - Cliff Harlaw - and his fate was sealed. Tempra would no doubt claim him as her own due to the intuition that could simply be explained as nerves, but Regis wouldn't question it. He appreciated Tempra's lack of social skills and desire to communicate, since he hated being in the limelight that often.

Cliff was slow to move, wavering back and forth on the spot. Regis thought he might pass out. Tempra knew that he would be fine. Slowly, he staggered forward, face draining of any colour. With that pale skin, he looked like Tempra, minus the neon green hairstyle.

Tempra opened her mouth but Regis beat her to it. "Yeah I know, he's yours."

He knew her too well. Tempra went quiet and closed her eyes. This would be the part she started to come up with outfits.

The female slip was in his friend's hand almost instantly. He watched with excitement in his golden eyes, waiting for the words to be softly spoken.

Ellery Haynes.

There was a boo in the crowd, a sign of hate. Regis' eyes widen; he always had the extreme ones. He focused harder, watching the girl - surprise evident on her face - move through the crowds swiftly. If she was shocked like Cliff was, she tried to hide it more. Everyone was staring - and that was normal - but Regis noted how the stares were of hatred and dislike, rather than pity or relief. If many people hated her, there definitely was a reason as to why. Regis shivered. Great, he thought, another crazy.

Tempra didn't tense. Of course, whatever was unique about Cliff, Ellery obviously lacked.

Regis put it down to the girl's attitude and social status. As she climbed the steps, everyone fell silent, watching her carefully. She might bolt. She might faint. Instead, with jaw clenched and eyes quickly hardening, she stared the camera down as it zoomed in on her face. She wasn't to be messed up.

"That's done for another year," Tempra commented, voice quiet. Regis nodded along, without looking up, twirling his finger over the rim of his wine glass. It was always his luck. "Guess we should start planning the chariot outfits. Matched or with differences?"

* * *

**District Six.**

* * *

Harmonia and Hollow were complete opposites. Sometimes, Harmonia wondered how she ever ended up with Hollow as her fellow district stylist. Whilst her hair was light and bright, Hollow's was dark and heavy, hanging over one of his eyes.

"I told you already, I am assigned the female." Harmonia confirmed for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"And I told you that we would see after they both got reaped." Hollow countered.

"And then, I told you, it would be better to make an unbiased opinion in order to be the most successful," her eyes narrowed. "Must you argue me on everything?"

"Must you be so dramatic and self-serving?"

Harmonia gasped. "You take that back!"

"I can't take back the truth." he seethed.

Harmonia didn't even bother answering. This was one of the moments she was on about, on how Hollow and her should not work together. She crossed her arms over her stomach and shuffled away from the gloom of doom himself. He couldn't dampen her mood; this was the after-party and her most favourite part of the year!

Just behind the stage and gruesome escort, you could see the faint outline of the train track that served many of the districts concerning distributions to the Capitol and so forth. District Six was the only actual district whose train track cut straight through the city - with houses and buildings below - compared to being on the outskirts in order to stop people skipping boundaries through rebellion. Like District Three, it was gloomy but the sky had creeped through, leaving a mix and match of shadows and light across the ground.

"Here comes my female." Hollow commented, just to spite Harmonia. She knew that and she wouldn't rise to it either.

As per usual, the words were spoken, clarifying the female as Arietta Fenton. Harmonia liked that name. It was whimsical and magical, almost angelic. It matched her own name, she thought carefully and only contrasted more and more with Hollow.

The female in question walked towards the stage, mouth agape. Harmonia's heart went out to her. She looked well and truly shell-shocked, and if Harmonia was honest, she would have rather preferred if she was at least crying or screaming. No emotion was definitely worse. For some reason, she bent over randomly by the steps, picking something up from the ground. That caused a Peacekeeper to hurry her up and she skipped the last few steps in what could be classed as a daze.

"Now, here is your tribute." Hollow said again. He enjoyed bullying Harmonia.

No name came. It was beeped. Harmonia's eyes widened and Hollow even leaned further out of his seat. The room fell silent. Outer volunteers were something of a rare species, and often had to be appreciated in small doses. This boy was a volunteer and now, Harmonia felt torn on letting Hollow win. Either way, he would.

The boy was jogging. That was a good sign, the pair thought. He was keen and not a sob story. He wasn't smiling nor scared, he simply looked like he had an ulterior motive, lips scrunched and forehead wrinkled. He didn't even climb the steps one-by-one, he just leapt, landing solid.

The escort quickly asked his name, voice high and squeaked from the surprise and possibly excitement. Rafe Corinthos, he announced himself with a clear tone. He looked dirty and a little ragged, but that could all be fixed after some tough pruning.

Harmonia scrunched her lips. She'd be the better person. "Did you want the female still?" she asked.

Hollow was silent for a moment. He was as shocked as Arietta had been. Then, he snapped back. "Yes, I'm not changing my mind and letting you have what you always want."

Harmonia didn't care. A smile broke out of her lips and she had to forcefully hide it from Hollow. He didn't win, and that was the most important thing to her.

If they were to be different, then Harmonia at least deserved to beat him every now and then, even if Hollow had basically dug his own grave, so to speak.

* * *

**District Seven.**

* * *

"Well, not all districts can be successful. Take District Seven, for example. They haven't had a winner in years," Delorean was talking to his fellow district stylist, Wisper, who seemed unsure of how to reply. It made Angeline's blood boil at how childish he was acting. She had to physically bite down on her tongue to calm herself. "I blame the stylists. They just don't make them stand out enough. It's always trees or paper like, we get it, you make lumber now sit down with the crayons and draw something better, you know?"

Lotus glanced at Angeline. She was ready to snap. He could practically feel the smoke blowing from her ears, hitting him in the face. The tension was thick and it was like they wanted Angeline and Delorean to argue, placing the two booths right next to each other.

"Don't rise to him." Lotus remarked.

"I want to put his face in a blender."

"Getting angry is basically giving him what you want."

"Then, I'll stir it around and around and feed it to some Mutts like a smoothie."

"You're playing into his hands, you know." he deadpanned.

"When it comes out the other side, I'll repeat the process."

Lotus sighed. "Let him win then," he looked at her, but she was still muttering under her breath, eyes glued to Delorean's blatantly obvious smackdown. "I give up with you."

Lotus was tired of having to deal with Angeline. She always played into Delorean's hands and never realised it. He done everything to purposely get a rise out of her, simply because it was amusing to him. Lotus knew that Delorean was clever, but that didn't stop him from low-blowing Angeline on every chance he could get.

The girl's name was suddenly called and Lotus grimaced, having missed the entire show behind it. Stupid Angeline and her stupid aggressive ways. He tried to help her and he suffered because of it.

Rotem Everly had her arms locked around her stomach, teeth chattering ever so slightly and eyes streaming silent tears. She looked so young and yet she had come from the back, where the older teens were penned up. A loud scream broke the silence and, having gotten used to it from the Careers, Lotus simply focused harder. The two mentors on the stage - Spruce and Maple - had different reactions. Maple was passive, but something about Spruce screamed urgency.

He was having the female this year, so Rotem was his. He liked that; she seemed decent enough.

As the trees swayed and Lotus was sure he could smell both pine and freshly cut grass, the male's slip was plucked. Giant redwood trees loomed over the stage and the sight - blocking out what seemed to be crystalline skies - was something out of a fairytale. His name was called: Jericho Castillo.

The boy walked to the stage with his eyes closed, lips letting out heavy, contained breaths. He was nervous, trying to calm himself, which seemed to be the opposite of Rotem. He was large and athletic - which was brilliant - and was even a looker. Angeline snapped back into reality at that time, smiling to herself at what she had claimed.

The two tributes stood on stage just metres apart, both with differing reactions. Then, out of nowhere, Jericho looked towards Rotem and offered what seemed to be a comforting smile.

"Our tributes are going to be friends." Angeline said, and whilst it didn't sound sarcastic, Lotus felt it was.

He didn't care; at least he was the one not playing into Delorean's hands like a stupid schoolgirl. He glanced back at the screen and a smile broke out across his lips. He was excited to see what Rotem had to offer, after all, seeing as many people's' reactions at the reaping tend to be totally different to their actual personality.

"Indeed," he replied, crossing his arms. "Just like us, right?"

Angeline still didn't look at him. "Of course."

And if he happened to allow Delorean to beat Angeline, well, she did deserve it for never listening to him when he knew better.

* * *

**District Eight.**

* * *

"That's fascinating," Mackenzie grinned from ear to ear. Spring smiled softly; he seemed like a little kid with a head too big for his body. She liked the appreciation he had for her wealthy knowledge. "So you say District Eight has gotten worse in recent years?"

Sephora hushed him again and Spring had to stifle a giggle. "Yes," she whispered. "A lot of people in the Capitol are beginning to make their own clothes and everything. District Eight isn't as needed anymore. I mean, they are, but the Capitol isn't as dependent on them. Pippin's win was great for them, but it won't stop the slippery slope."

"I just can't believe you know so much," he replied just as quietly. "Sephora doesn't share her knowledge of District Three and I've never been myself."

Pistach only half-heartedly listened to their conversation, his mind too busy tapping against his latest gadget. Mackenzie seemed in awe of what Spring knew, when really, he should be in awe on the technology that District Three created. His latest piece done everything his last one did and more. He couldn't peel his eyes away.

District Eight came up next and looked as ordinary as others. Factories were located in the horizon - like District Three, minus the smog - whilst the houses were more spaced and looked nicer. Pistach glanced up, forcing the dark blue strands of hair from his eyes.

The microphone was pressed to the escort's lips and he kindly placed his gadget to the side in order to focus. Spring was still quietly conversing with Mackenzie, so he'd have to listen for the pair of them. The name - Bryony Dubois - proved his theory that it was the female. This was Spring's department - his latest female tributes having all but died and Spring's success with young Pippin - but again, she seemed too engrossed in the conversation.

His eyes widened and someone shouted out a comment from in the room. "She's white!"

The girl, with white as snow hair and skin, skipped towards the front. Most would see it as a problem, but the girl just seemed to grin wider and wider with each step. For someone walking to her possible death, she didn't look as upset as one would have expected. She climbed the stage with a skip in her step, even attempting to hug a disgruntled escort. Then, she waved at the camera and Pistach had to wonder whether she was all there between her ears.

Spring turned around at that point. Her eyes also widened, but with surprise this time. "She's... different."

"Albinos are becoming more common," Pistach commented, stealing a glance at his district stylist's face. "Give me a second and I'll bring up an article I read on them," he grabbed his gadget, feeling the sense of relief and comfort flood his veins. "If you think about it, she could be related to Esmeralda Snow and that line of heritage."

He didn't bother to look back up. Any excuse to tap away at the electronic machine and forget about reality. He used it for everything.

Sephora pulled Mackenzie away and Spring focused in more on the screen.

The escort called out the boy. His name, however, was clouded by that of a piercing scream. For a moment, she believed that Pistach would look up and be interested, but he was lost to her, absorbed and addicted. Spring looked closer, watching the head of light brown hair separate from the crowd. He marched down the line with a pale face, lips quivering from the aftermath of his cry.

"Don't you want to see your tribute?" Spring asked kindly.

Pistach lifted his gadget, as if the answer was obvious. "I'll meet him soon enough. Your one is too hard to beat so there's no point. Besides, I want to find this article for you."

Spring shrugged. "If you really must."

She still didn't know that boy's name. As if hearing her mind, Pistach suddenly coughed. "His name was Joshua Kersey, in case you missed it from that scream."

"Thanks. I know though, what is it with these people?" Spring frowned. "They all just want to scream as if that'll do anything," then, she paused. "Do you think it's just a natural reaction?"

Pistach weighed the thought in his mind, tilting his head from side to side. "I'll look that up for you in a moment. I can't have two things running at the same time."

Spring just smirked and downed the remnants of her white wine. She already knew the answer, but it was amusing to poke fun at Pistach's obsessiveness. All he had to do now was put that to good use and help his tribute out, otherwise at this rate - and going by what Spring was thinking - her tribute was about to flatten his and steal the attention. Spring wasn't competitive, but she did enjoy beating Pistach whenever she could.

* * *

**District Nine.**

* * *

District Nine was just fields. Each backyard was a grain field growing rye, whilst the local park would be the backdrop to a field of wheat. It was a district known for it's greenery and lack of social standards. Unlike most districts, District Nine was a little backwards in their ways, old-fashioned and still carrying beliefs from the Dark Days. It was hard to stamp out old traditions when children were born and bred amongst it.

Igor enjoyed the history behind District Nine. He was one of the best in the business, and unlike most, Igor was allowed to choose which district he styled for; Esmeralda allowed him that incentive each year, but he chose the same place because he felt comfortable with the tributes he worked for. He could pull them from their comfort zones and still keep their personalities in tact. Working alongside Marrion was even better, seeing as she shared the same beliefs.

They didn't bother with the trivial side of the stylist community, where backstabbing and cheap shots grew wild. They kept to themselves and worked as hard as possible. Hardworkers, just like the district they styled for.

The screen switched and Marrion quickly flipped open her notepad.

"I was thinking that we could go for a straw theme this year, perhaps." Marrion jotted down her idea, the costumes just appearing in her mind.

"We could give the girl a dress that shows the front of her legs but hides the back. Some braids, perhaps, giving her a Western kind of look," Igor supplied. "The male could have a toga made of straw, maybe with a matching helmet," he paused, watching Marrion write it down. "Also add that we'll do something with his hair to match him with the female."

The escort had the slip in her name, announcing the female as Lyra Chambray. Marrion hummed as it proved to be a little girl, twelve years old. Igor instantly felt guilty but his mind was already altering the outfit idea in his mind, making it more appropriate for her age. Lyra was holding what seemed to be a ragged doll against her chest, lips moving and eyes building up tears.

"If she brings that doll, I suggest she use it on the chariot." Marrion said. "It's made of straw, see? It would look great."

The idea hit Igor and he turned to face Marrion. "What we'll do is, we'll change the dress into something more girly, like a straw doll, and Lyra can hold that whilst up on the chariot. It would give her a cute appeal."

Marrion's lips broke out into a grin. "Perfect."

As Lyra struggled to make to the stage - still talking to her doll - the escort had already selected the male's slip.

Igor tensed without realising and scanned the crowd as the name was called. Stefan Rui was stood on the edge of a pen, eyes closed and wobbling on the spot. Marrion was elated and placed a tick next to the costume idea for the male. He was older and therefore it fit perfectly. Except, he wasn't moving. The other stylists started to mumble. Then, Stefan fell forward, as if he was in a dream state. A Peacekeeper was behind him in a second, hauling him forward but he never complained or fought back. It looked like he didn't even understand. Lyra, on the other hand, had just climbed the steps and stood there, shaking violently.

"I guess this is what they mean by District Nine's standards. They both are really slow." Marrion sounded almost sad now, a contrast to her previous enthusiasm.

Igor didn't agree with her but kept silent. He couldn't think about the tributes as anything but tributes. His job was to style them, not learn about their life and whether or not they fit the District Nine stereotype he had grown to love. It was easier.

Instead, he smiled. "I think our ideas are just perfect. I'll call up the materials for when we get to the Remake Centre."

* * *

**District Ten.**

* * *

Kalican watched as the camera showed off District Ten. Cows. That was the first thought that flashed across his mind. Oh, and sheep. Did they have anything else? Probably chickens. He always imagined District Ten as having chickens just roaming through the streets and nesting underneath huts and houses. He had never been there and to him, District Ten was just an enigma and a mystery waiting to be explored.

Wolfgang stayed silent, face hardened like stone. Kalican didn't like Wolfgang purely because the gentle giant stereotype was not Wolfgang, and that made him uneasy. It was unnerving, the way he chose not to speak. Most of the time, Kalican would just have to alter ideas and Wolfgang would either nod or shake his head. It was a strained relationship that never really blossomed, and if Kalican was honest, he didn't want to put the effort in.

He quickly glanced at District Two - sat a few booths away - wondering what it would be like to have someone as helpful as Jasa or as timid as Violet.

Then, the name of the male - Wayne Fallows - boomed and shook him back to reality. His fingers moved mindlessly, as if wanting to play with something. Wolfgang had dreadlocks. Would he mind if Kalican just played with them out of nerves?

Wayne, left out in the open and seeming vulnerable, had angry tears leaking from his eyes. He had one of those faces where they just hated the world in that precise moment. Kalican felt a twinge of guilt and quickly attacked his glass to keep his mind occupied. Wayne stomped towards the front and, even at the angle the camera had awkwardly sat on, you could see the define clench of his jaw. He could be a fighter or simply an angry-at-the-world teenager.

"Would you like him, Kalican?" Wolfgang spoke and Kalican was almost shocked at hearing his rough and rare voice.

He shrugged, twirling his fingers around the neck of the glass. "I don't mind, you know? If you want him, you're more than welcome. I'd rather you choose because if I had to, the pressure would consume me and then I might explode and let's face it, no-one would want to be splattered with mini-Kalicans."

"Okay." Wolfgang responded, short and sweet.

The camera had then skipped onto the escort, Wayne appearing in the corner of the tight-close shot. Kalican's nerves shot through the roof and at one point, he was ready to try and break the glass. Anxiety had always been his biggest problem. Combining that with an overactive imagination - perfect for his career but a hinderance on his life - and Kalican practically dug his own grave. The quickest this was over, the better. This was always the worst part for him.

The girl was called. Asya Novik.

The camera panned on the young girl with piercing eyes. She just stood there, violently shaking. Kalican let out a little sympathetic noise and, for some reason, expected Wolfgang to do the same. No such luck.

Asya, however, didn't move. All the other young girls around her recoiled, as if they just got burned. Asya was abandoned and then in a flash of a second, Asya spun around and attempted to flee. She ran straight into a Peacekeeper's arms and screamed loud, scrabbling and clawing at the air, as if that'd help. Kalican gripped harder at the neck of the glass when the Peacekeeper seemed to throw her down on her feet, before shunting her forward. Asya stumbled and stutters and Kalican's heart just broke into pieces.

Asya was basically thrown on stage and an angry, teared up Wayne didn't seem to care, still hating the world with his eyes.

It had been dramatic. Too dramatic. Kalican could only imagine what would happen on the train. Asya might try to break the window open and escape. Wayne might commit suicide. He sighed out of relief when the screen broke down into black pixels. He released his aching grip from the glass and stole a glance at Wolfgang once more, mainly out of a want for some sort of twisted comfort.

Instead, Wolfgang looked tense and weathered.

What if he had secretly fathered Asya when he visited for some reason and now his daughter was coming to die? Kalican panicked and had to take deep breaths. Surely not. Unless Kalican had hit that nail on the head. He wouldn't know; it's not like Wolfgang spoke to him or anything.

* * *

**District Eleven.**

* * *

"I hope your tributes suck." Angeline had finally broken her angry silence and bit back.

Delorean smirked, turning to face his arch-nemesis. "They can't be as bad as what yours were," he purposely took a long sip of his champagne and smiled sickenly. "Well, their stylist is much worse."

Lotus mumbled something from behind but Angeline kept to her guns, being bold and brash. "You watch your mouth otherwise I will rip it off."

"I don't think that's anatomically possible, but I'd love to test it out on you. These lips are too good for your grubby hands."

Wisper, Delorean's fellow district stylist, shrunk back into her seat, trying to block out what he continuously brought up. He had to irritate everyone and that left Wisper with a hard time making any friends. He was selfish, in that way, considering he only ever bossed Wisper around and deemed himself higher and better rather than make a friend of her. She consciously chewed on her nails, keeping focus on the screen.

"I swear to God, Delorean, I will cave your face in." Angeline vowed.

Mockingly, Delorean tapped his chin. "Bring it then, you Neanderthal."

District Eleven appeared and Wisper let out a sigh of relief. She drew her eyes closer to the screen, focusing on the head of blue hair that was the escort. It was a repetitive sequence that she never liked, but right now, it was comfort and comfort was something she needed when Delorean went to war. District Eleven's common groves and fields were the home to the fruit and grain that Wisper adored. Being strictly District Eleven and not District Ten, she only ate fruit and vegetables and District Eleven was the home of that.

Wisper specifically had pomegranates and persimmons on her mind. That'd be a great idea for a costume, but it had been done. Maybe scarecrows comma fruit. Fruit scarecrows. Wisper smiled, liking that idea. Of course Delorean would disagree and call it stupid and Wisper would nod along, the puppet to the puppeteer.

The escort called out the boy first. Thorn Revan. Wisper watched as he moved through the crowd, just like the others. Nothing in particular screamed individuality, but it was clear he was actually terrified. His facial expression let it all out despite his body trying to contain the evident displeasure. And, because nothing screamed that he was special, it meant that Wisper would have to style him, seeing as Delorean didn't deal with "average".

"See? He's as dull as you."

Delorean laughed, causing Wisper to jump from the loudness. "And he's probably as pathetic as you."

Wisper wasn't surprised by Delorean's attitude towards said tribute. He loved the job simply because he was talented at it and it provided him with the life he deserved. The tributes, well, he didn't care about them at all. Wisper at least tried to make a personal connection with them before they more and likely died.

The escort's reaction at Thorn wasn't the most pleased. If anything, she looked bored as she called out for Caritta Husk to come up onto the stage.

The dark-skinned girl went through three phases. At first, her mouth fell open in clear shock. Then it drew back and her face dropped instead, realisation slamming into her like a freight train. The last phase - anger - showed her clenched jaw and angered eyes as she charged towards the front. Yeah, Delorean would want him, Wisper thought somberly.

"Told you that they both would suck," Angeline commented and Wisper wished she could just vanish.

"Frankly, your opinions don't matter and for the last time, stop talking to me. It's weird," Delorean waved the conversation and ensured that Angeline understood by turning around. He faced Wisper, and she knew what was coming. "You know the drill. I'll take the girl, Carrot or something. You can have the bore."

Wisper nodded like a good submissive. "Sure." she shrugged after.

* * *

**District Twelve.**

* * *

Ara and Whit clung together in the booth, each sipping from their respective glasses, though they often switched. It was them. Like sisters seperated at birth, they enjoy shared the same hairstyles but in different colours and everything. In all honesty, Ara and Whit had become the laughing stock of the stylist community for being sheep and copying each other.

It fit that they were left with District Twelve to design for; ridiculous stylists for the poorest, laughable district.

"I wonder w-what we would get this year," Ara giggled, slightly tipsy. "Do you think we should try and make them more than friends?" she laughed again, Whit joining in as they swayed in their seat. "Wait wait wait, no no hear me out, can you imagine if we paired up a little boy with an older girl? It would be super funny!"

They both cried out, laughing, and Delorean leaned over into their booth.

"You both are ridiculous." he hissed.

Whit made sure to slap him on the head, patting him like an animal. "Oh do be quiet you silly little puppy. Nobody likes you as it is without you being a spoil-sport."

Ara backed her up with a maniacal laugh that seemed to cut the silence. Both were completely gone, wine bottles spewed across their table and glasses loss of liquid. The other stylists were either bored or tired. Eleven reapings and dozens of alcohol had taken its toll on many. One more had to go, and it was the district that no-one favoured after the loss of Katniss Everdeen.

The screen cut for the final time, revealing the darkened realms of District Twelve, where the poor thrived. Everyone knew it was bad conditions, but over the years, it seemed to have worsened. The divide between extremely poor and marginally poor had grown and split more dramatically. Ram-shackle huts and dirt-sleeked gravel had made the background and environment seem almost disgusting.

Ara tried to strain her eyes, but everything seemed to move. Why did there have to be two escorts this year? she thought.

She focused harder when she heard the familiar static wavering in the air, the way it did before a word was spoken through the screen. The sight might've been troubled and blurred, but she instantly heard the name - Micah Amaro - before the camera had zoomed in on the boy. Whit giggled again and Ara had to stifle hers once more, knowing the moment was serious. She could practically feel the eyes burning into her skull for being unprofessional but she just didn't care as much as she should of. The boy was paralyzed on the spot.

"Is he not going to move?" Whit slurred. "He should move. It's not, it's not healthy to just, to just stand there," she downed the final piece of her red wine and shook her head. "It isn't healthy."

Finally, as the dark clouds rolled over, Micah moved. Ara watched the two boys mimic each other's steps, even almost stumbling at the concrete steps. Whit burst out laughing again and Ara just couldn't control it either.

Jasa passed by their booth, already leaving with Violet in two. Mesmer and Pallas had grown bored and already disappeared, but many of the others stared for the sheer enjoyment that the two ditzy girls would provide. Delorean even told Pistach to film it on his gadget.

The female was Lucia Bailen. Once more, Whit teared up, her olive skin turning a blooming pink. Lucia moved through the crowds at a slow pace, despite the small smile on her face. It was to hold back those emotions, the part of Ara's sober brain thought. Like Micah, Lucia stumbled at the steps, causing Whit to laugh again. Whit was completely drunk by now, both from laughter and alcohol. Ara, on the other hand, was sobering up. She looked harder at the four tributes standing on stage, her eyelids heavy and throat furry.

"You two are just ridiculous," Delorean commented again, slouching on their booth, arm propping up his tinted orange head. "You are both the mockery of this community. I don't see why Esmeralda continues to allow you to style. You don't have as many Victors as the other districts, and clearly that is your styling faults."

"It's no-ot our fault!" Whit practically spat in Delorean's face.

"You sure about that?" Delorean deadpanned.

"Pe-erfectly," Whit's face scrunched up in disgust. "You, you suck, Delollipop."

Ara nodded along. She agreed with everything Whit said, but her tongue was too big and heavy to move. It wasn't their fault that the District Twelve didn't have as many Victors as the other districts. They done their job as good as possible and hey, coal miners was a very popular outfit choice.

* * *

******Save The World Tonight by Swedish House Mafia.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Which stylists/POV stood out to you?**_

_**Which tributes stood out to you?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**So... here we are again. Like, my seventh reaping. Did you know I hate them? No? Well, I do. I loathe them. The reactions are always the same and, in all honesty, a tribute can act completely different at the reaping compared to the Games/Capitol. I mean, I would cry if I got chosen but I wouldn't cry the entire time or anything... basically, I use the reapings to place the tributes as the background, so I could use the reapings for other vices. This time; adding to my world-building. :)**

**I took a different approach with this. I wanted something fresh and new - stylists ftw! - but then I struggled writing it in 1st POV and the personalities all seemed the same because I was trying to capture Capitolite enthusiasm. Unlike mentors, like, they chose this so they agree, you know? They all just seemed the same and it bugged me. **

**So, here is 3rd POV! I haven't wrote it in ages. Did it come out as crap as I imagined it? ****Don't worry, it'll return to 1st POV after this.**

**Yeah. These tributes are pretty interesting. I've worked out alliances and everything already.**

**For all the newbies, four Capitol chapters are on their way, once a week hopefully! Unfortunately, I will be disappearing for a week so at some point, they'll be a hiatus without updating. Writing might be accomplished though.**


	4. The Scientist

**The Scientist.**

_Nobody said it was easy, no-one ever said it would be this hard._

* * *

**Lyra Chambray, District Nine Female.**

* * *

"Lyra, you need to put the doll down so that we can continue with the styling," the funny man repeats, but I simply clutch Hannah harder. He sighs, defeated. "Honestly, Lyra, I need to do it. You can place her," he gestures to a small table next to the large chair. "And she can watch, if that'd make you feel more at ease."

"Her name is Hannah." I gently say.

"Excuse me?"

"Hannah. I said her name is Hannah," I bite down on my lip, pulling her closer. "She's my token. The lady said that I can keep her with me."

He sighs again. His dark, shiny hair looks like a porcupine, like the ones that I caught glimpses of wandering around the factory in District Nine. I miss it there, despite all the problems I faced. It was comforting and now all I have is Hannah. I slowly move forward, placing Hannah on the table, before climbing into the chair. I feel the warm spray of water hit my hair and smile. I tilt my head to face Hannah, and smile even wider.

"So, Lyra. My name is Igor," he sounds strong and strict, like Dad, when he used to brush off my comments and change seats near me. "How long have you had Hannah?"

I bite down on my lip. "A few years now. I found on her on the street near a garbage can, and she asked for a new home."

He doesn't respond but I hear that hum. That hum that tells me he's already bored of what I have to say. It's okay, my parents were the same, dismissing my words and actions as something pointless. Hannah has never done that to me. That's why I secretly like her more than them. Oh, but I love my cat Tinsel, so it's a tie. I lean back and close my eyes, thinking about all the wonders I'll get to explore. District Nine might be bright and cheerful, but it's boring. The Capitol isn't; I've heard that they have coloured houses and streets made of rainbows.

"Will Hannah be going into the arena with you?" Igor asks.

"Most definitely. I need her," I respond, short and sweet, before biting down on my lip. When I feel his hand drift through my hair, I flinch, a squeal escaping my lips. He freezes. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm sure you're just nervous." he sounds warmer now. I look back at Hannah, finding comfort in her stitched smile.

A silence settles over us, and I simply keep my eyes focused on Hannah. She's still smiling, and that's a good sign, because when Hannah is sad, I know that something bad is about to happen. As long as she smiles, everything will be okay. The water turns off and I snap back, ready to lean up when Igor gently places his hand on my shoulder. It takes everything for me not to squirm from his touch.

"You'll be dressed like Stefan," he says. "The theme we have is stalks. Well, more specifically, grain stalks. I've designed you a ballerina dress made entirely of the substance."

He moves away, his dark hair poking the ceiling. He reveals a dark bag and unzips it, the noise making my ears perk up. Then, he pulls out the dress, sleek and so pretty. I gasp, eyes wide. I've never had something so beautiful before. He passes it to me, and that's when I notice that it looks like Hannah almost. I look back to her and then Igor. "It looks like Hannah."

"It's meant to. You'd like her on the chariot with you, wouldn't you?"

I grin. "Yes! Hannah has never seen a horse before."

"Well then, this is Hannah's lucky day." Igor smiles. As long as I have Hannah, everything will be okay. I believe in that.

* * *

**Lakyn Vale, District Four Female.**

* * *

"This costume is beyond gorgeous," I marvel, staring at the mirror. Sonnet is beyond me, smiling wickedly, as I spin and turn. "How ever did you do it?"

"I'm talented, what can I say. As long as you upstage that shrimp from District One, I'm happy."

Sonnet steps back and fades from the view as I continue to stare. I'm a sea goddess, according to Sonnet. Usually, it's mermaids, but not this year; she wanted something different and I got it. I couldn't be more happier than having something new. I run my hand down the fine fabric that stops just under my hips, showcasing legs trapped under fish net tights. "I don't know how you did it," I say again. "I feel like something out of a fairytale."

"Sweetie, you are thee fairytale," she smiles, handing me shoes with large heels. "This will top if off. A sea goddess, ready to submerge the others in their watery graves."

"How poetic." I smirk, taking the shoes and slipping them on. Compared to the others, I'm used to expensive and luxurious things. My line of work allows me to have the best of the best and sure, some people might be jealous by it, but they've never said it and I've never rubbed it in their faces. Well, I did once, but again, they never said anything.

Everybody loves me, what can I say?

"Dorfin should have Austal ready soon," she comments. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

"Who, Austal?" I ask. Sonnet nods, twirling a piece of her hair. "I haven't, no. He doesn't seem bad but he's a little freaky. He just stared at me for ages. Odyessa literally had to slam her fist on the table to stop him from being such a creep."

"Odyessa, always the lady." Sonnet smirks.

I twirl again and again, unable to comprehend any of this. When I return to District Four, I should hire Sonnet as my personal stylist. I've got the money to pay her, and after winning, I'll have even more. I could introduce her to the lifestyle that everyone deserves but are too lazy to work for. She'd be a helpful asset when I have specific clients to please. I'll make sure to ask her another day, because today, it's about me.

"When can we go? I'm super excited to show this off to the other Careers," I turn around and Sonnet raises an eyebrow knowingly. "Specifically the District One female. I have no idea what you have against her."

"It's not her, but rather her stylist. That two-bit wench doesn't know her way around a needle and piece of thread, yet she believes she's better than me."

I smile, placing a hand over my heart. "Oh Sonnet, I do love you. We're going to be the best of friends, I just know it."

A knock at the door alerts Sonnet, and she walks over, eyebrows knitted. It opens up, revealing what I presume to be the man she mentioned, Dorfin, who stands burly and defined. I smirk, gazing at his muscle and black mohawk. He looks incredible. I bite down on my lip, watching him with eyes that could speak a thousand words. I need to conquer him. I saunter over, gently placing my hand on Sonnet's shoulder.

"I'm Lakyn," I purr, extending my hand out for him. He frowns, but takes it anyway and plants a kiss to my curling fingers. I giggle, even feeling Sonnet's eyes burning at me. Dorfin just stares though, and I know that this sea goddess should have another name, one more suited and booted for who I am. A siren about to claim her first suitor. "Please to be of service."

"Dorfin." he responds, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Well, Dorfin, I can't wait to get to know you," I wink. "We're going to be good friends, I can just tell."

This place will be a great learning curve; more tips for the trade, so to speak.

* * *

**Asya Novik, District Ten Female.**

* * *

Serena guides me through the hallway with her hand on my back. The costume feels slightly foreign on my body, but I won't complain, it's something new and that's alright by me. An Avox pushes the doors open and I'm hastily blinded by the bright lights. I squint as Serena continues to guide me, unaffected. She hasn't spoken much but I didn't expect her to. Who would want to talk to me? She's probably heard; heard the rumours and the fables that surround me.

I blink a few times as my eyes adjust. The large room towers high, spotlights cascading on the golden chariots. Everything looks like something out of a dream and for a moment, I can't move myself forward, stuck by beauty.

"Come on Asya," Serena mumbles, continuing to usher me forward. I catch a glimpse of Wayne coming out with Macaulay, wearing an outfit similar to mine; red tartan, straw hats and leather boots. Wolfgang had said the idea was farmers, but as far as I know, the people in my district don't dress like this. Serena guides me to the chariot where we meet up with Wayne and Macaulay. "Macaulay."

"Serena," he offers a smile. "This one here doesn't like to do anything."

"I can speak for myself." Wayne grumbles, but doesn't actually follow through.

I watch him carefully. Wayne's head is downcast, mouth scrunched into an angry frown. He seems... annoyed. He seemed annoyed during the trains, but then again, I never said anything. I was too busy looking at the view. But now, it's clear that Wayne just isn't happy.

"Smile?" I suddenly say, looking directly at Wayne when he looks up.

"Why?" he complains. "Why would I smile when I'm about to be paraded around like a show animal? It's disgusting."

I see Macaulay twist his lips into a frown, but focus on Wayne more. "I'm... I'm sorry. I was only suggesting."

Wayne just shrugs it away. Neither Serena nor Macaulay jump to my defense, but I guess I can't moan about it. They had to be fair at the end of the day. Biting down on my lip, Macaulay kindly helps me up onto the chariot and I offer him a smile for thanks. Wayne soon jumps up and, standing side-by-side, I realise how ridiculous we must actually look. In front, the young girl from District Nine is helped into her own chariot, a ballerina dress made of straw and a little doll clutched in her small hands. Should I approach her? Being the youngest, it's only expected that we ally-up.

"Just smile," Macaulay offers. Wayne snaps a glare in his way. "I mean, moody, just smile. As you said, you're being paraded, and nobody likes a stubborn mule."

The doors begin to open and the dark light and cheers begin to flood in. It's deafening, the way people are waiting for us. I clamp my hands over my ears, but it doesn't seem to faze Wayne. He keeps strong, leaning forward to grip onto the metal bar.

I feel to say something, but Wayne would only dismiss it. The chariots upfront begin to surge forward and a sense of fear spikes my chest, but I swallow it down. These people won't know me nor my story. It'll be like a fresh start. I smile at that. The chariots begin to disappear through the cutting light, and then, the little girl from Nine suddenly turns around. Her eyes are wide and fearful, and in all honesty, makes her seem kinda creepy; somehow, I can't help but look back.

I don't think I can become her ally. It'd be far too dangerous.

I suddenly hear Wayne's name being called, causing me to smile. I lightly tap Wayne on the shoulder, causing him to spin around far too quickly. His foot trips the other, sending him to the floor with a thump, his hat being swept from the chariot, blowing out onto the pavement below. Some of the crowd stops cheering and begins to whisper, the loud noise growing quiet as Wayne forces himself up, cheeks dusted pink.

It's happening all over again. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn around, reminding myself to just stay away from people.

* * *

**Kristopher Midden, District Three Male.**

* * *

I grin as the chariots continue to roll, looking from coloured wig to coloured skin, staring down those who will spend their money to grant me anything I need. A younger woman with green hair seems smitten, and as she waves in my direction, I casually blow her a kiss, causing the woman to giggle.

It's amazing how well someone could actually do if they played certain roles. Ampry stands next to me, her round outfit occasionally bleeping a bright white light, like a lightbulb. I nudge her shoulder playfully, gaining her attention.

"Look up there!" I point above us, where large banners replicate our faces and costumes. In particular, I point to ours. "See, you need to smile, otherwise that banner could crack, you know."

Ampry doesn't say anything, just giving a sarcastic smile before looking back towards the front. I shrug it off quickly, focusing on my waving and grinning once more. I want to jump, too, just to prove my point and cement my place as the class clown this year. I don't know whether another tribute will try the same, but for me, it's all about being deceptive.

This is the Hunger Games, and like a game should be played, you need an angle. It's like holding your cards back; letting everyone know what you're capable of seems rather stupid, because then you're vulnerable and open, with nothing up your sleeve. Why would anyone do that?

Still waving, I glance over my shoulder, looking at the tributes from District Four. Their costumes match, with slight differences, and it makes me wonder why Mackenzie and Sephora chose to dress me and Ampry differently? Whilst Ampry's outfit flickers white every now and then, mine flickers red. I look down as it flashes, lighting my eyes up. It's ironic how red can be seen as deception. I hold back the laugh bubbling in my throat; it's like Mackenzie just knew.

As the chariots begin to slow down, Ampry grips the metal bar to hold herself. District One - doused in feathers and tight leather clothing - steers to the right, whilst District Two - in golden armor and holding weapons - steers to the left. Just as Ampry holds herself, ready to turn left, we steer right, causing her to fall off balance and knock into me.

"I know lightbulbs come in pairs, Ampry, but you don't have to take it quite literally." I joke. Ampry doesn't laugh; she just doesn't understand humor.

"Your jokes run on thin ice, Kris," she calmly says, though I can see how much restraint she is actually using. "Why did my district partner have to be anything but normal?"

My eyebrows rise, a smirk playing on my lips. "Compared to the girl who ended up in a fist fight?"

She snaps her head at me as the chariot slows to a stop, right next to District One. "I never actually hit her back. She started it, and ended it."

"I'm sure you're a fan favourite already." I poke teasingly, turning back to the front where I can see Esmeralda Snow looming at her podium.

The scene plays out like many times before, where I've sat on the carpet at home and watched the Games thoroughly with parents who wanted to shield it away from me, but never being able to do so. As more chariots roll in - including District Five to our right, dressed in their matching outfits of giant solar windmills - Esmeralda taps the microphone twice.

"Tributes, we salute you." she says emotionless, and the crowd erupts, but no tribute smiles. Not even the Careers are grinning wickedly.

As she drones on about thanking us and reliving both the Dark Days and Failed Rebellion, my mind wanders to places unknown. All this people I see now, they'll be dead in a few days, or at least dying. The numbers will dwindle fast or slow, depending on the entertainment value. Some will have games to play whilst some won't. I can already see myself surviving the bloodbath; I just know it will happen, arrogance not applied. A backpack, some weapons, and I'm gone, without fighting.

My father told me that's the best way, and me and him have always been a lot alike.

I plan on playing this all properly; a facade, masked by my true identity. They won't know what will hit them.

* * *

**Arietta Fenton, District Six Female.**

* * *

I stare in awe at the costumes that surround us. Rafe constantly laughs under his breath, stealing glances at me as I steal glances at someone else.

District Eight has the prettiest of outfits. Royal blue and silver gowns, fancy hats and curled shoes. They almost look like the wizards and magical people that I draw. I smile knowingly, remembering the last picture I drew of a man spewing out pink fire from his mouth. Rafe reminds me of the man, except younger and shorter, though Rafe isn't exactly short for his age.

The chariot suddenly lurches forward. I snap back in time to see the white horses guiding the tributes back to the Remake Centre, District Four being ahead of us.

"What did you think of that?" Rafe asks politely. I hum, looking at him, and he just laughs breezily. "I said, what did you think of all that? Did you enjoy it?"

"It was... pretty incredible," I say truthfully. "I never would have imagined I'd be living it."

He laughs again. "Very true. Total opposite of the way I live at home. Although... they could have done with some music. I think the cheering and that busted my eardrums."

"Agreed." I smile, and a comfortable silence falls over us as we head back through the doors.

Rafe is nice, for a volunteer at least. Everyone assumes they have their own agenda, and whilst I've never heard of why Rafe did what he did, he isn't overly arrogant or notably psychopathic. He feels like a reaped child, if anything. I hold back a laugh, remembering how Constance interrogated him on why he done the most stupid thing in the world, and Rafe just seemed to brush the comments away and continue to smile at her.

Our chariot begins to slow down. Constance and Lorcan come into view, watching us with careful eyes. Did we not do good? Hollow said I was too chirpy, but I didn't think it'd be a problem; I saw the District Three boy jump at one point!

"Well done," Constance clarifies, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "You weren't completely useless. You," she points at Rafe. "You were lucky. Caused quite a stir with the volunteering, and we might even have a sponsor or two lined up for you already."

Rafe beams and I can't help but smile for him. "Well done Rafe." I congratulate him loudly, clapping, and he looks over his shoulder to smile at me.

"Come on, jump down," Rafe quickly hops off at Constance's command and I follow, helped down by Lorcan. "I want you both changed and ready to discuss everything in about ten minutes."

Rafe begins to hurry and I follow behind him. However, rushing, I almost trip on my outfit, causing me to stumble and slam into the back of another tribute. They grunt, being knocked forward before turning around. I eye the costume up - red and yellow leaves on a brown, skin-tight suit - before meeting the dark, chocolate eyes of the District Seven male. My heart freezes in place; he's one of the bigger, more toned tributes that aren't Careers. He's probably a huge competitor.

"I'm so sorry." I quickly fluster, stepping backwards.

He just looks at me, eyes curious and wide like a little infant. I instantly feel bad and have to turn around, holding my head down as I charge for the elevator. Constance is quickly behind me - I know, simply by the tension that auras her presence - looming over my back.

"Don't mix with the other tributes," she warns, her voice low but since I'm not looking at her face, I don't know whether she's berating me or just handing out advice. "Attachment will lead to heartache and, to put it bluntly, Victors just don't have friends."

I spin around instantly, fluttering my eyelashes and holding back a smile. "I understand," I finally grin. "Don't worry, I know what to do."

Constance doesn't look convinced. "You're a weird one, you know that?"

I laugh under my breath once more. "So I've been told."

* * *

**Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.**

* * *

Andora is behind me when I step into the elevator, completely silent. She hasn't said a word all day, from train to now. I expected something from her, but in reality, I don't know Andora all that much. We both must have trained for the same amount of years, but we've never crossed paths, which makes me wonder how she got chosen to volunteer? Only people in the top class get chosen. Andora wasn't in my class, which means she wasn't the top female trainee.

I would ask her, but I doubt she'd cooperate.

The elevator ride is slow and silent, and when the doors open, Andora quickly scuttles over to the couches. I blink a few times before a blast of red hair catches me off-guard. Siryn looks at me carefully, a smirk playing on her face.

"How did it go?" she questions.

"Wasn't you there?" I reply. Technically, mentors are meant to be down there, cheering us on. Yet, as far as I know, neither of ours turned up, as if they didn't really care.

"Well, no," she looks away, as if guilty, before coming back. "But neither was Lennox and he is older," she ushers me with her hand and I follow, continuing to blink; what does she want? "Now, tell me about it all. Did you get some cheers? Chants? Did the others look jealous?"

Over her shoulder, I can see Lennox move out, his face cold and stoned. He sits down next to Andora and she shuffles away from his obviously intimidating posture. Lennox, the pyromaniac, happens to be one of the most cruellest trainers going at the Training Centre. After all, he's not all there in the head, according to rumours that have drifted through the air to my ears.

"Fine." I simply state.

Her face drops. "Is that it? Fine? Are you actually kidding me?"

I shrug my broad shoulders, not knowing what to say or do, and still watching Andora curiously over Siryn's shoulder. Compared to what I've seen, Andora isn't like the other females I know and have watched from afar. Siryn sighs, having lost my attention. With a swish of her hair, she storms pass me towards her bedroom, next door to Andora's.

"Cres, come here," I look to Lennox, his overly bright eyes glaring at me. It looks a lot like my father, when he commanded and I obeyed. I gulp thickly, remembering the pressure and how, even though he's not here, it's like he's always watching me. I move to the couch and sit down, still keeping tabs on Andora. She doesn't even look up at my arrival. "What do you know about the other Careers?"

The question catches me off-guard. "Nothing?" I feel like it's a trick question. I remember briefly when my father asked the same, then made me do push-ups when I answered wrong, telling me that a pack is never stable. "We haven't spoken to the others as of yet. We'll find out tomorrow when training comes around; it's more important then, anyway."

He hums, eyes twitching, making me feel uneasy. "Do either of you plan on killing them early on in the arena?"

He looks directly at Andora for that question. She glances up from her nails, revealing accusing eyes. "I'd rather not share my game plan, thank you very much."

Lennox leans forward. "I'm your mentor, it's my job to know what you're thinking," his eyes twitch again, proving many rumours about him. "And Cres is your ally, and he deserves to know whether you plan on driving a knife through his heart or his back. So, which is it?"

She snaps her glare in my direction. "Do you really want to know?"

I hold my front, being forced onto the defense. "Whatever it is, it won't matter," I clarify. "I'll be able to disarm you either way."

"Exactly," she looks back at Lennox, nails still poised in the air. "I'd rather not share. I don't do show-and-tell."

It does beg the question, though, as to whether or not Andora will be destroying our team anytime soon? Or, even more interestingly, whether our team will be whole? Father won't be pleased, but as long as I win, he can't complain, surely?

* * *

**Micah Amaro, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

Crispin coughs and my head snaps up, eyes wide and staring at my mentor who looks red-nosed and teary-eyed. Slowly, I draw the small piece of cloth from my pocket and place it over my nose and mouth.

"What's that for?" Lucia asks, carefully stabbing the meat with a smile on her face.

I hold it over me for a few seconds, before pulling it away a tiny bit, just to speak. "To protect me from germs. I don't want to get ill."

"I doubt you'll get ill from one silly cough," Lucia chirps. "I'm sure there's no harm in it."

"One cough can carry bounties of bacteria," I counter, putting the cough back over. "I refuse to get ill." I mumble.

"I'm sorry, Micah," Crispin apologizes. I nod, understanding that whilst being ill is a natural thing, coughing without a hand over your mouth is just a cruel way of spreading the disease. "I've had this nasty cold for ages now, despite Twelve's heat wave currently."

"I know!" Lucia chips in. "It's been so lovely and warm, it's a shame the Capitol doesn't allow us outside, even for a little while," she frowns slightly. "I miss the breeze."

I remember being out in the blistering sun once. I kept myself in the shade, being forced out of the house by my father because he thought I was becoming a "hermit", worrying about the amount of diseases that could easily multiply underneath the sweltering temperatures. They grow faster, I'm almost sure of it. My mother got ill during the summer; she was the living proof.

"I could always see whether you can go up onto the roof, though they closed it off a few years ago, back before I was here," Crispin suddenly sniffs, and I recoil in disgust. My nose feels weird, come to think of it. I gingerly bring my fingers to my nose and poke around. I think it's swollen! "I'm not too sure whether they'd let you, but it couldn't hurt to ask."

"That'd be great!" Lucia beams, the happiness clear in her voice. I look to her cautiously, her sickly sweet smile etched into her lips. "I'd love to sit and feel the breeze after training tomorrow."

I almost forgot about that. My heartbeat increases. I can feel the beads of sweat building on my forehead. I clutch the cloth tighter against my lips, feeling my hot breath disappear into the fabric and making my lips tingle in heat. I close my eyes, beginning to count to ten.

"Micah?" Lucia's voice suddenly reaches my ears, but I don't want to open my eyes. One. Two. Three. "What are you doing now?" she laughs.

My eyes snap open. "I was counting to three to keep calm," I mumble into the cloth. Lucia's eyebrows quirk up in confusion, so I pull the cloth back a little again. "I said I was counting to three to keep calm."

"Shouldn't you be doing that for tomorrow?" she teases.

"Don't think counting to three will prepare me for the bacteria-bath I'll be stepping into shortly," I reply icily. The ideas and pictures just flash across my brain and I can only imagine the amount of dirt and grime and dust I'll have to face when I'm finally in there. Blood and gore will be all around me. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. "I really need to sleep or something."

I stand up to leave, pushing my chair in, when Lucia speaks up. "I'll be joining you in training, you know," I turn around, seeing the smile on her face. "District partners need to stick together. We're better as a team than two individuals."

Allies were the last thing on my mind. I nod curtly, hurrying away to the bedroom where I can get some peace and quiet from everyone else. My mind is reeling and my stomach feels as if there's a gaping hole as I finally plop down on my bed. I press the back of my hand to my forehead, feeling the clammy skin. My nose is swelling, I feel sick, my forehead is hot and sweaty... these are all symptoms!

I'm going to die before I've even reached the arena to try and fight for my life!

* * *

**Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.**

* * *

"Ellery, it's time to move!" Nebula chimes, pounding against the door with her tiny fist.

I gently move away from the large window, the colourful heads of the Capitolites fading from view. Does Nebula think I was still sleeping? It's because she's incompetent. She might be my mentor, but we're the same age, and I will not respect her when me and her are equals.

"Ellery!" Nebula calls again. I groan, moving across the room and opening the door up, revealing her smaller statue. "Oh, you're already awake. I didn't know."

"I don't think you know much, but that's not the point," I state, brushing pass her and walking down the hall. Nebula will no doubt follow. "Has anyone gotten Cliff up yet?"

But, my question is answered when I notice Cliff sat at the table opposite Elesa, eating a bowl of wheat and cereal. I quickly pull out my chair next to me, prizing in myself the way Cliff notes my presence. It's good, in a sense, since it means I'm important.

"Ah, should of just waited before asking." Nebula says snarky, and I really want to wipe the smirk of her face, cause it'll be on there without a doubt.

Nebula takes her seat next Elesa, not removing her eyes from me nor Cliff. I slowly take bites of my toast, carefully moving my eyes between the two mentors. Elesa carefully watches, though she makes a point of not actually making it clear. Unlike Elesa, Nebula hasn't crafted herself in the powers of understating actions. Everything with her is oblivious and direct, each with a hint of arrogance that I find distasteful.

"So, is there anything we should talk about?" Cliff suddenly asks. I look at him, incredulous. "What?" he seems shocked, turning to me. "I want to be prepared for everything when we go down there."

"It's handling weapons and running around an athletic track," I roll my eyes. "Unless you're a complete moron, I think you can cover the basics."

"Ellery, there's no need to be so rude." Nebula chimes.

I look to Elesa, feeling the excitement rush through me. "Was you always an Albino, or did the arena or Capitol bleach you?" I pause, taking another bite of toast and swallowing it quickly. "I'm pretty sure the girl from District Eight is too. Maybe you're related?"

"Ellery!" Nebula hisses. "Everyone knows the aftermath that happened after her year. Don't be so inconsiderate."

I keep my eyes locked on Elesa. "Must suck to be you then."

She doesn't flinch. Something tells me that Elesa is used to judgement, but frankly, I've always gone above and beyond in order to make people feel inadequate with both my intelligence and superiority. That, and as long as it annoys Nebula, I'm even more so fine.

"That is no way to talk to a Victor," Nebula berates once more. I glance in Cliff's direction for a moment, but he makes no effort in acknowledging me. He probably deems me as rude, seeing as I've seen him for a minimal time, and already know he has perfect manners and grace. "She has won this, you know, and it'd be wise to learn from her experience."

"So have you, but I don't care for neither story," I bite back. "I have enough experience in dealing with people and situations. I'm perfectly capable without guidance."

"So you can disarm someone from trying to stab you?" she counters.

"Probably," I shrug it off. "I'll soon find out, and training will help me understand everyone else and their weaknesses."

"And you believe that you can do that from just glances?" she counters once more. She's seriously annoying me now.

"No, I never actually said that though. I said it'd help me understand them better, I never discredited glances. I might talk to them. Study them. I'm not too sure yet," I look to Cliff. "Ideas, Cliff?"

"I'm going to find an alliance hopefully." he smiles sheepishly.

"And find an alliance you should," Nebula cuts in abruptly, as if trying to make her point. "An alliance is always stronger compared to singular tributes."

I don't bother to ask why. It's pretty obvious as to why alliances are more profitable compared to singular tributes; allies includes less stress, shifts for lookout, bounties of food and comfort. I'm not an idiot, I know all of that, and Nebula is making it seem as if I said I would be on my own. I haven't. I might find myself an ally. Moronic Nebula, always assuming she knows everything and then some. I guess I'll just have to prove her wrong, just like Mother.

* * *

**Gloria Lavelle, District One Female.**

* * *

"So you're friends with Chalice King, huh?" Aphrodite says as I step into the elevator. Lancel, for some reason, has disappeared. I don't particularly care; he's a strange one.

"I am," I make sure to hold Aphrodite's eyes. She's a strong woman - bold and independent - and I feel the need to make her see that I am also. "I trained with her and her mother."

"Tassel hasn't been active for a few years. I'd be surprised if she's trained you well enough," her eyes darken, as if she's suddenly realised something. "Are you sure you're ready to handle this? It's not as glamorous as one would expect. Swift might live it up, but he's an idiot."

I straighten up. "I don't care for glamour, so we're all good there. As for training," the doors begin to close, so I shift my footing, ensuring to see Aphrodite's dark hair begin to disappear. "I'll be sure to prove my worth."

They close, and Aphrodite is gone. I sigh and listen to the elevator descend me downwards.

I admire Aphrodite, I always have done. Compared to Tassel King, Aphrodite has kept her calm and cool over the few years of victory. She's a role model to me, and for some reason, I feel the need to show her that I can be the same. I was the same towards Inspire and Grace, though they often would laugh and pat me on the head for being idealistic. A smirk creeps on my face as I remember Inspire's face when I stole her chance, eliminating her from any chance of the Hunger Games. She never did come to see me, and I'd be lying if I said I would miss her.

The doors open, revealing the tall ceilings and bright lights. I stand in awe for a few moments before moving forward slowly, eyeing up the emerging carriage of outer district tributes. I scan the crowd quickly for Lancel, but his lithe figure is hidden.

A burly man stands up on a platform and I rush forward. I pass the boy from District Ten, and my heart sinks. Despite being younger, he's taller and wider, and for a moment, I retreat into the part of my brain that's made of intense fire and brimstone. My lips twist into a snarl and I make sure to stand next to him, pushing a few of the other tributes aside when they come too close. The platform rises and, as it does so, I see Austal from District Four staring at me with freakish eyes. His stare is... unnerving. I quickly avert my eyes when the platform halts, unable to handle his intensity.

"My name is Maestro," he declares, voice solid and strong. "In this room, today, tomorrow and the next day, will be something that could save you. I suggest you take this to your advantage and venture out appropriately. Remember, disease and other variables can kill just as swiftly as a knife. You'd be idiots to not look at the survival skills."

I switch off, looking around. The tributes don't look too dangerous this year. Besides us Careers, the only real threat is seen in the form of the boy from District Seven, who looks pretty muscular and dangerous. Everyone else looks average. I smirk, bowing my head quickly to hide the smile; even more perfect, I have a better advantage, seeing as no-one towers me too much.

"You may begin."

District Ten moves swiftly. I counter him, though, by slamming my shoulder in his side and pretending as if I didn't notice. I turn around when I near Cres, just to see his face staying neutral, lips itching to curl in disgust. He doesn't complain; he'd be pretty stupid to do so, considering confrontations are not allowed. I turn back, pleased, when I slam straight into Cres' broad chest.

"Sorry," I quickly say, looking at both Lakyn and Austal who are also there. "I'm Gloria."

I already knew their names from studying their volunteering. Lakyn looks at me and smirks. "You're kinda like a little porcelain doll, you know," she coos. "I'm Lakyn, and it's a pleasure to know me, I know," she jerks her thumb at Austal, standing awkwardly behind her. "This weirdo here is Austal."

"Cres. Cres Rhodes." he says gruffly, cutting in.

"And where is both of your district partners?" Lakyn asks. "I kept mine on the leash, couldn't you do the same?" she jokes, though I highly doubt it. I look her up and down, and instantly know I don't like her now I've heard her speak directly to me.

"Andora is around here somewhere," Cres comments. "She's all for the alliance, but she doesn't like crowds, apparently. She will be in, though."

They both look at me, and I straighten my back once more on instinct. I've dealt with people like this before. "I can't find Lancel. I haven't seen him all morning, so I don't know what he actually wants."

"Even more perfect," Lakyn waves it off, as if Lancel was nothing. I suppose he's not, but it's speaking tonnes for Lakyn's character. She curls an arm around my shoulder and seems to laugh lightly. "I just know you and I are going to be the bestest of friends," she urges Cres to move closer, but he stays put. "We're all going to get along just wonderfully."

I have to force myself not to snarl or even seem disgusted by how much she reminds me of Inspire. I simply keep quiet, reminding myself of Inspire's pissed off face to keep myself calm.

* * *

**Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

Watching the Careers gather, I notice that two of their members aren't even around. I smirk, turning back around towards the trainer.

"I'll have a rapier, please, your most heaviest."

He frowns. "You sure kid? It's a mighty object. Most people can't handle it."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, I'm not just anybody." I correct him.

He shrugs nonchalantly, bending underneath the station to collect the large sword. He hands it to me with wary eyes, but I simply smile it all away as I walk towards the cotton dummies placed around for me. I make sure to carefully watch the others out the corner of my eye, particularly said Careers. They dominate most years, with a pack full of angry, hotheaded and psychopathic tributes that turn on each other the moment it's necessary. People love them, yet don't they see their stupidity?

I move forward swiftly, feeling the weight of the silver in my hand. Heavy and impressive. I can master this. I step back onto my left foot and push forward with my right, sending the blade into the soft chest. I pull it out and repeat the motion, taking pleasure in the way that, despite the legend behind the heavy weapon, I'm able to handle it. I wouldn't have quit either way, but it's nice to know that I'm a tiny bit better than those who have tried and failed.

I force the blade in again when I notice someone watching me. I hold the rapier in place, and with a pivot of my wrist, I twist the hole in the mannequin's body.

"Can I help you?" I say before turning around. Then, I'm met with the eyes of the male from District One, one of the members that wasn't all for quick congregating and chatting.

"I like your technique," he smirks, his eyes flickering from my weapon to my eyes. "You've got great skills. A little more power in your right foot, and you'll be able to pierce the blade straight through his body and out the back."

I narrow my eyes. "I think I know myself and what I'm capable of better than you do."

"Just some advice," he steps forward and offers his hand. "The name is Lancel."

I look at him warily. "Thorn."

Knowing I won't shake his hand, he pulls it back. "Cool name. So, Thorn, do you mind if I train with you?"

"Don't you want to play with the other psychopaths?" I quickly bite back. Before, I would have held my tongue if my brother Briar had said anything. Now I've learned to stand up for myself more.

"I'd rather not. I don't buy into that whole Career thing, if I'm completely honest." he counters.

My eyes widen. Frankly, I'm surprised, because he looks as average and stereotypical as the rest of them. "A traitor, I see."

"Hardly," he laughs lightly. "I'm not here to kill for fun. I'm actually here to win."

"I'm sure everyone has the same goal, so why are you different?" I shoot back. I pull the rapier out, only barely realising that I left it embedded in the dummy. "Every volunteer does it because they want to win."

"I have better goals than they do," he pauses, looking over my shoulder at the Careers. "If you let me train with you, I might be persuaded to tell you why."

Training with him won't be that bad. It's not like we're allies, and if anything, I can learn about him and his weaknesses and further myself. It'd be like Lancel was playing right into my hands and providing me with an advantage that I hadn't even really thought about. "You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

**Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.**

* * *

I don't like this. I look towards the weapons and then up at gruesome trainer behind the station. Yeah, I really don't like this.

Bryony's pale hand moves forward and quickly grasps the smallest knife, almost like a dagger. "I never thought I'd hold a knife like this," she laughs, soft and whimsical, like a little bird fluttering in the trees. "Don't you want one, Joshua?"

"It's not that I don't want one..." I begin. "It's just that I didn't really want to work with knives."

Bryony turns to me, smile on her face and light eyes almost piercing. "Why? What did you want?" her lips twitch into a grin. "I'll come keep you company, admire what you can do!"

I can't help but smile at her words. Bryony is... different, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the albinism. She's upbeat and positive and I mean, come on, we just got reaped and Bryony still managed to find the light at the end of the tunnel. She's extremely perky.

"I was actually thinking of a falx?" she tilts her head, amusement in her eyes but it's clear she has no idea what a falx is. "It's used to cut down things like cotton. Basically a sickle," I suggest when it becomes clear that Bryony doesn't know, but doesn't want to say. I think it's her cute way of being polite and happy for me. "Yeah, I wanted something a little different."

"That's because you're a clever person!" she chirps again. "Well, come on then, show me this falx of yours."

Bryony laces her arm through mine and allows me to guide her towards the specialist weapons station. The only person there is the boy from District Nine, but even then he looks as if he has no clue what he's doing, just standing around on the spot. I carefully dodge him, towing Bryony along. She doesn't say anything as I ask the man for the weapon, a puzzled look on his face.

"Joshua, are we allies?" Bryony suddenly asks, and I almost drop my falx from the level in her voice as if it was something she always said.

I look at her carefully, watching for any signs that Bryony might be joking or something. Instead, in her eyes, is brightness. "If you want to be?" I decide to go with. A careful answer to a tricky question.

"I'd like to think we are," she smiles, looking down at her hands. "You're pretty cool, Josh, and I think we'd be good allies. You're super smart and strong."

"I'm sure you're as smart and strong as me." I counter, rebounding the compliment back at her.

She pauses, just for a moment, and I notice something inside of her that isn't the happy persona I've grown accustomed to. Her lips almost seem to twitch into a frown and my heart races, guilt burning through my veins. "No you are!" she soon shoots back and my heart slows back down. For a moment, I thought I had upset her.

"Did you want other allies?" I deflect the question, wanting to get away from the potential eggshells. "We can, if you want to, or we don't have to," I quickly glance around the room, no-one in particular standing out. "I have no idea where to start though."

"I don't mind," she beams. "As long as I'm with you, I'm happy."

Happy. How can someone be truly happy here? It only reminds me of the eventual pain, heartache and death that could be around the corner. I can't fight my emotions from souring and I simply allow them to take over. "I'm going to practice," I say, forcing my voice to seem upbeat in order to keep Bryony unsuspecting. "Maybe you should try out that knife?"

"Okay," she smiles. "I'll catch you later, handsome!"

She practically skips away, bright and bubbly, the complete opposite of how I feel. I stalk over towards a section of cotton dummies and carelessly swing the falx into the faux man, the clap of noise hitting my eardrums. I'll have to fight. I'll have to kill. Eventually, Bryony will have to die. One day in and I'm already imagining a sweet girl's death. I swing again, trying to force away the sudden dip in my mood and trying to bring some positivity back.

If I can let myself believe that I can do it, I'll have something to cling to.

* * *

**Jericho Castillo, District Seven Male.**

* * *

I climb higher and higher up the net, determined to reach the very top. The trainer didn't even see me climb and I'm thankful for that. Being up here will give me the best view possible on all the other tributes and what they're doing. It's a good strategy, but it has its downsides which include a more personal approach. I won't be able to overhear the cunning chatter from the Careers, nor the obvious competitive banter that radiates from the weapon range where two tall boys train.

I pull myself over the top and settle down, watching down at everyone. People would think that because of my height and weight, I'd be too heavy for climbing, but surprisingly, the ropes were made of partial steel and able to handle the heaviest of tributes.

The District Two girl is beneath me. I glance over, watching her. She just stands there, mindlessly looking around at everyone. She looks kind of bored, if anything. I don't know her name, but I can imagine her personality has being rather bitchy.

My eyes move to the District Six boy. He hangs around on the outskirts of the Training Centre, gazing longingly at his district partner; the girl who bumped into me last night. She sits there, smiling away, as she dabs her fingers into large pots of paints before swirling them on the ground, creating spirals of bright colours. She looks at peace, as if nothing could disturb her carefully created bubble.

A smile finds its way on my face as I watch her giggle to herself, flighty and free.

When she bumped into me last night, she must've been flustered. I remember her pink-tinted cheeks as she busied herself away. Rotem didn't say anything, but I saw the slight devious smile on her face.

Speaking of Rotem, I scan for her familiar dark curls, seeing her launch a spear at the target, before it skids out of the way and lands on the floor with a clatter. It's sad; Rotem seems so nice.

I should speak to her. The female from District Six, I mean. I lean forward, but quickly bite on my lip and pull back. I'm not the greatest at conversations, and besides, Colin told me not to get too involved. It'd also be weird to just approach her on the off-chance that I find her extreme serenity appealing. I sit back, but the urge to watch her paint is too much and I can't peel my eyes away.

Deciding, I steadily climb down the ropes, twisting my wrists to descend with ease. Having upper body strength gives me an advantage. I could really do with an arena that has trees or mountainous walls. There, I could survive easier. I jump the last little bit, hearing the applause of the trainer. Oh, he saw me.

"Well done. Some great climbing there, though I didn't expect anything different from a District Seven tribute," he compliments. "Have you thought about the climbing wall?" he points to the large structure in the far corner. "Or even the gauntlet? It's always a good one to practice on."

"What?" I say.

"I said you should try the other climbing and physical stations. You have the muscles on you, son."

"Oh, right," I reply, still glancing at her over his shoulder. "I'm sure I won't have the energy today, but thanks."

I step pass the room and move across the room awkwardly. How can I approach her? I can't. I could just watch her? It'd make me seem such a creep, but I want to know what she is actually painting. It looks like a large picture, whereas I believe she should be painting herself. A trainer appears and I halt quickly.

"Why are you painting the floor?" she asks, aggravation clear in her voice. "You're suppose to be painting yourself, you stupid girl," she bends down, placing down another bucket of paint. The girl isn't even listening or looking up. She doesn't look fazed. "Whatever. See if I care. I'm sure that painting pictures is really going to help you survive. Bloodbath, I put my money on it."

She moves away. I take a deep breath and move forward. For a moment, I just linger over her, watching her fingers fly gracefully over the concrete.

"I like your picture," I scratch the back of my neck and the girl seems to leap, eyes wide and frightened. "Sorry," I apologise. "I didn't mean to, um, scare you."

She smiles coyly and looks around, as if she doesn't know what to do or say. "It's okay. I was just, um, in my head, yeah," she smiles softly now. "I got really focused."

"What is it?"

"What is what?" she shoots back accusingly.

"Your picture?" I tread carefully. "What are you painting?"

It takes a moment for her to reply, and I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck again. I shouldn't have done this. I should've stayed up there in my retreat. "Peace," she soon answers. "Anywhere but here really," I sit down, finding myself both awkward but longing to stay. It's conflicting, and for a moment, I'm ready to stand when she looks at me. "You can help, if you want?"

My father would berate me, telling me a real man doesn't enjoy a "girl's hobby" like painting or flowers or butterflies. He's not here, though, and for the first time ever, I'm actually happy about that.

"It'd be a pleasure." I smile, and truly, it would be. A little bit of peace before chaos wouldn't hurt.

* * *

**The Scientist by Coldplay.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?**_

_**Opinions on the blog titles?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**I'M BACK.**

**Here we are with the first Capitol Chapter. Here, we learn some starting alliances. For reference, we have the Careers minus Lancel (for now, possibly, it isn't confirmed), Bryony and Joshua, and Micah and Lucia. Everyone will be confirmed next chapter, when we deal with the other two days of training.**

**And if you look on the blog, the tributes each have a worded title! It doesn't define their personality per se, but it's a big factor as to their character before development occurs.**

**So yeah. Good to be back!**


	5. Warrior

**Warrior.**

_Your entire world will turn into a battlefield tonight._

* * *

**Lancel Deimos, District One Male.**

* * *

The first thing I notice when I walk out to breakfast is Swift's eyes, darting up to meet mine. Oh crap. Did he find out? As I continue towards the table, I skim my eyes over Gloria. She wouldn't be as petty to tell them that I'm not joining the Careers, would she? Gloria ignores me, I doubt she found pleasure in ratting me out. Then again, we're from two different worlds and in here, everyone is your enemy.

"I see someone has finally joined us," I look at Swift, his smile sickly sweet. Yeah, he knows. "Considering your track record of not turning up to important gatherings, I didn't think you'd make it."

"It's only breakfast, Swift. Hardly that important."

He places his spoon on the side of his bowl and narrows his eyes. "Well you see, meeting with the Careers is, and you didn't do it," I hear the sharp intake through his nostrils. "Please tell me that you were too busy with weapons training to be bothered to make it?"

It's going to come out anyway. The thought argues in my mind, but by saying it, I'm showing I'm strong and dependant and maybe, maybe Swift won't be too spiteful to sap from my sponsor fund. "I don't want to be in the Careers."

His fist connects with the table and I jump. "You what!"

"Please calm down the dramatics," Aphrodite interjects. "It's his choice whether he wants in the monster troupe or not."

"Does he not realise he will die quicker? Do you realise that you will die quicker?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "The thought crossed my mind, but my odds are probably better, if you think about it."

"You shouldn't have to think about it," he hisses. "Your district should make it clear where you belong."

I keep the corner of my eye focused on Gloria, her body telling me that she doesn't care as much as she should. Watching them yesterday, I knew instantly the tension would be bubbling. That girl - Lakyn - was smiling and Gloria was seething and really, I think I made the right choice, whether Swift thinks it or not. Besides, Thorn is decent, although he pisses me off with trying to be better than me all the time.

Swift inhales sharply again. "At least tell me you aren't allied with some outer district, poverty-ridden bloodbath."

"Well..."

"That's it," he throws his hands in the air and stands up, face a beat red. "If you want to kill yourself quicker, that's fine, but don't try and make me suffer. I have a reputation to withhold!"

He storms off, and with him, the tension calms down. I blink a few times and Aphrodite looks towards me. "Don't worry about it kid. Swift, unfortunately, is another species of moron."

I nod, but the pounding behind my eyeballs reminds me of the anger in my heart. He thinks he can judge me and my decisions. I'm from District One, a volunteer, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm a Career nor that I want to be a Career. I clench my fists and slow down my breathing. It's coming, I can feel it. Many years of seizures have taught me the tell-tell signs of when it's about to come. I quickly rise, the lights piercing my brain.

"I want... yeah, I need a shower before we go." I make my excuses and scurry back to my bedroom.

I just need a break. The bright lights, the anger, the pain... it's going to be harder than I assumed. For Harley, though, I'd do anything.

* * *

**Austal Eridote, District Four Male.**

* * *

"So I was thinking that me and Gloria should go over here and play with the spears and everything, whilst you guys should go over there and play around with those large boulders things. Yeah?" Lakyn grins.

I blink a few times at her immediate posture and the way she seems to be pointing at me, yet nothing really fits. Despite Cres being the obvious choice for leader, it seems as if Lakyn has claimed that position for herself without really talking about it. Then again, we don't talk. Cres is sullen and brooding, Andora just doesn't turn up, and Gloria seems to be constantly glaring at everyone. Not to mention that it's clear Gloria's district partner isn't joining us.

"I guess that's fine," Cres replies, submissive. "Come on Austal."

I don't know where to go, but I follow Cres anyway and allow him to lead. He takes us across the floor, heading towards a station that has large weights that you can throw.

"Here," Cres says. "You try that one there," he points to the lightest and I frown. "Whilst I try this one, got it?"

"But why? I might want to try the largest one as well." I counter and determination scorches in my veins. If I'm going to succeed, I need to push myself despite my limitations. Cres won't understand but he doesn't have to; I don't plan on sharing my darkest secret with anyone just yet.

"Be my guest. I was just thinking of you, man."

Brushing pass him, I grip the largest weight and drag it from the rack. The thing must weigh a tonne and I briefly struggle to even drag the damn thing.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"No thanks."

"Whatever, kid."

I can feel his eyes on me and I already know he's expecting me to fail. But, I won't. I've never done. Even when I was tired or sweating, aching and groaning in pain, I persevered. Mother always told me that to build up my strength, I needed to work on it. And I need to build that strength up, no matter what, otherwise... otherwise I don't know what will happen.

Going as far as I can manage, I begin to lift it up. The pressure makes my fingers ache and I can already feel my bad arm screeching in agony. With a final heave, I launch the object as high as possible... but it lands just a few inches in front.

"Don't strain yourself," Cres remarks. Yesterday, he barely talked and was slightly defensive, and today, he's suddenly better at talking. I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing. "Here, I'll show you."

He moves in front of me and grabs the weight. But, as he begins to move it around with ease, my eyes find Gloria again and I just stare at her. The way she moves and acts is peculiar. I've never known a woman to act so... tenacious. My mother - the only woman in my life - was sweet and charming and she always told me that every other female was the same. But Gloria isn't, and neither is Lakyn nor Andora. Everyone is so different to what she said, and I can't help but stare and wonder why.

I hear a thud and notice that Cres has thrown it much further than I could.

"See, just need some practice," he offers. "I can help you, if you want? I don't mind. Training was a breeze back home," It was for me, too, but I did it for other reasons that to make myself look good. I walk past him, bitter thoughts betraying my face and he knows something is up. "Austal?"

I don't respond. With an aching arm and a mind that tells me I'm a failure, I head towards the climbing wall to better myself.

* * *

**Rotem Everly, District Seven Female.**

* * *

I look over my shoulder awkwardly, scanning for anyone that might come close. I chose this station - poisonous bugs - for a reason; to avoid people. I mean, who would actually eat bugs? It seemed perfect but the creepy crawlies are making me feel sick. The trainer also isn't helping, munching the edible ones down in a show of teaching me.

Mother told me I'm incapable of trusting someone and she's right, but I don't want her to be. I want to trust people, but people are so... unpredictable and I don't like that. You could approach someone and they might be rude and mean, and it shakes my trust.

I hear footsteps and tighten. Mother's words echo in my ear, berating me for being the way I am, even though she is plenty to blame. The dark-skinned girl from District Eleven is suddenly next to me, looking down at the table with pursed lips. I glance over her, forcing myself to try harder.

"Hi," I say and she looks up. Her eyes soften and a smile creeps on her face. "I'm Rotem."

"Caritta," she smirks. "I can see that you aren't a total weirdo like most of the females are this year, so I'll chill here, if you don't mind."

I feel sick. I don't like this, but I breathe through my nose and control my emotions. "I suppose that's okay. I think all the other females are weirdos too."

She snorts. What's so funny? "Including me?" she asks.

"Yeah. I judged everyone as weirdos before meeting them."

"So what, you think I'm still a weirdo?"

"I don't know you so my first impression still remains." I awkwardly respond. There's something in her voice that tells me she isn't happy, but I don't know, I'm not good at reading people that much.

"Aren't you just a peach," she seems upset now. "Anything else you want to slap me with?"

Caritta seems to be angry. Her eyes are narrowing, accusing, and I realise I might have possibly offended her.

"Whatever. Guess you're just as weird as the others. And you were so pretty, too, but behind those curly locks seem to be a freak." she sneers, and with a strop, she stomps away. I blink a few times - even hearing the trainer laugh between disgusting chomps - before it hits me that finding an ally might be harder than it seemed, and really, it's because of me. Mother would be right.

Conflicted, I gaze out on the group. Everyone looks so unpredictable. Jericho is the only though I know I can like and possibly trust, and even then, he's paired himself up, though he doesn't want to admit it. I don't know what the District Six female is like so that's a definite no.

I need someone... tough. I need someone who might be nice, but for arena purposes. I'm no good with people so an alliance based on friendship just wouldn't work, and when I'm on screen, I want Mother to see that I was able to conquer the fears that she non-purposely put on me.

Then, I see them. The tanned boy parries with the boy from District One, both looking sweaty but grinning wildly. They don't look menacing; they look rather friendly, if not like friends. Bench always told me that "bros" were like that. The tanned boy from District Eleven reminds me of Bench. I swallow down my fears and cross the room as quick as possible, scared that if I slow down, I'll chicken out.

When I near, District One suddenly stops and grins. "Hey Thorn, we have company." he smirks.

Thorn turns around, and then his eyes widen. "Oh, the girl from District Seven, right? Rotem?"

I nod curtly and swallow. Come on Rotem, you can do it. "I want to join you."

"Join us?" Thorn responds. "Me and Lancel, we're not allies."

"Hey! I thought we were," Lancel quickly responds. He seems hurt by that. "Well, we are now, because we've got someone else who wants in."

"We're becoming popular," Thorn grins as he turns back to me. "Okay, Rotem, you're in on one condition," he passes me the sword in his hand, still smiling. "Let's see what you can do."

* * *

**Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.**

* * *

The District Eight boy peers in the corner of my eyes. He's at the miscellaneous section, searching through items like I did. He keeps a close eye on me though, but he tries to be subtle. I can't help but smirk at his obviousness.

"What do you think you're doing?" a trainer suddenly complains. I look up, watching the boy collect some pots and pans. "Great, another hopeful tribute."

"Cool," he responds. "Nice way to be professional."

I stifle a laugh and the man looks at me all of a sudden. "What are you looking at, urchin?"

He then disappears under the counter. Wow, he's just great at his job. Here I was thinking that a trainer in the Capitol would have more respect for the lambs to the slaughter, I mean, tributes. I busy myself with the scattered items in front of me, trying my best to create... something. I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm looking to achieve, but, it's better than being intimidated by the Careers with their almighty weapons or the tributes already in alliances.

I would ask Arietta, but she's found interest in the boy from District Seven and I'm happy for her, I really am. I just wanted her to have someone, and if she couldn't find anyone, then I'd valiantly take the role instead. Valiantly, like I did when I volunteered. There's no point in telling people, they've already judged me from that alone. They think I'm either arrogant or stupid. They won't understand my reasons and why there was nothing left for me in District Six.

I sigh, tapping lightly on a small, metal pot. The beat ricochets in my mind and I continue, smiling softly to myself as the beat performs. I miss my battered guitar, too. I whip the side of the pot and smack the top, the melody drifting through the air.

I notice Arietta looking up from her paints, the soft smile on her face welcoming.

"That's brilliant," I go to pause, but instead continue to play. I can't stop now, not when the music is coming together. "So you can play instruments, I presume?"

I finally give in and look up at the shadow cascading over me. The boy from District Eight has a tight smile on his face, but his eyes are wide and curious. "Kinda," I admit. "I'm just musical."

"I like musical. Musical is something that can't be defined and yet, is able to capture the imagination like a collection of colours," he replies, his voice soft. He suddenly takes the seat and slides the plastic bottle in front of him. "Mind if I join?"

"Course not," I beam. "A solo artist is only better with a fellow musicians."

He begins to tap the bottle against the floor and I soon join in. The hard, raw beat pounds in the air and the boy grins, his eyes closed but hands moving rhythmically. I can't stop the smile that spreads out on my face. Allies were something I didn't think of properly - I was prepared to be alone, and frankly, with my status as a wannabee volunteer, people would probably avoid me - but here, with this guy, I feel like luck might be on my side for once in my life.

The beat still goes but I suddenly pause. His eyes snap open, deflated. "Why did you stop?"

"Man, I don't even know your name," I joke lightly, hoping he takes the hint. "I'm Rafe, please to make your acquaintance."

"Joshua," he grins back. "And I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, music-master."

"Puh-lease. You're as good as me. Back in my district, if you played like that on the streets, you could easily afford a luxury life," I freeze. I watch Joshua carefully, waiting for some sign that he might bolt for my tactless way of saying I'm homeless, but he doesn't. "Your district partner," he glances behind him at the white-haired girl, giggling to herself as she taps away at a machine. "Is she your ally?"

His face falls slightly but he picks it back up. Only, this time, I know it's more forced. "Yeah. Bryony is a nice person, albeit a bit too peppy. Have you... do you have an ally?"

I can't stop my face from tightening. I'll probably be on my own, an outcast and loner. It's always been that way, until Dinah came along and we became a duet. I miss being that. "No," I reply, trying to mask the sadness in my voice. "I haven't found anyone. My district partner, she um, I think she's with the moving muscle from District Seven."

There's an awkward pause and Joshua's face looks contorted in concentration. "You're more than welcome to join us, if you want?"

My eyes widen with delight. "Are you... are you sure?"

"Perfectly," he sounds, more natural this time. "Anyone who can keep a beat and loves music is definitely alliance-worthy, in my eyes. Is your token a guitar? Cause I think that'd be awesome."

I can't stop the grin that peels on my face. "Sadly, no. But if you gave me a few seconds, I'm sure I'd be able to find something with strings and more worthy, ally."

* * *

**Cliff Harlaw, District Five Male.**

* * *

"What do you want then?" the trainer asks again.

"I don't know..." I mutter, switching back and forth in my mind. On one hand, a sword would be a good bet and keep me away from the blood. But it could also be negative because then I'd have to be sure that I strike hard enough to make a damaging blow. An axe is also good, but it might be too heavy or too light. "I think I'll have... the... sword, please."

He collects the sword from the rack and hands me it with a smile.

"Thank you so much." I take the sword and walk towards the collection of dummies. All the other tributes have similar ideas, and for a moment, I get caught up watching the District One boy slashing at the dummy with a flail. His ally, the girl from District Seven, she's taking an axe to it with more precise strokes. And their final ally is watching on the sidelines with a scrunched-up smile. My heart deflates; I still haven't found an alliance yet.

At this rate, though, there won't be enough time. Everyone is finding allies too quickly. I glance around at everyone, trying to find that one person who stands out from the crowd.

"Hi!"

I quickly turn around at the bubbly voice. It's the District Twelve girl, talking to the trainer I was just with. I watch her carefully as the man produces a smaller blade and gives her it. When she turns around - more than likely heading in my direction - I freeze. Act casual, I remind myself. I have to be polite and poised.

She comes over and smiles. "Excuse me, but are you using this dummy?" she gestures to the one in front of me. Oh, oh yeah. I drop the sword to my side and step pass her. "Thank you!"

"It's no problem," I flash a polite smile. She takes careful aim and then plunges the dagger into the chest. "I take it you know something about knives?" I ask, trying to make the conversation seem natural.

"My family own a butcher shop," she grins. "They taught me everything I needed to know in order to take over."

"My father was the same," I supply. Yes, this is brilliant. "He owns a power factory in District Five. Manages it and everything. I'm going to take over when I go home."

She smirks, but turns quickly to hide it. It makes my chest less heavy - this is good. "That's if you go home," she teases. "I'm taking over the family business when I go home."

"And what makes you so sure of that?" I play around, even though the subject is rather touchy and not at all appropriate. But, if it means getting to know her, then it's better than going through the regular motions.

She turns around again, eyes light and playful. "I have skills with a knife and you know how to run a factory. Which one works better for the Hunger Games, power-boy?"

"Power-boy?" I laugh. "That's clever, but the name is Cliff. And I like to believe that my age can play a part in it, meat-girl."

"I'm probably the same age as you, Cliff," she turns and stabs the knife again. "And it's Lucia, but call me that and I'll treat you like the meat," she giggles, breezy and light. "I prefer Lucy."

Time to strike, I think. She takes another stab at it, still look proud. "So, Lucy, have you got any allies?"

Her eyes widen as she looks at me. "I do, yes," she replies and my heart falls. "But we're all for another person, if you need one?"

"How do you know you can trust me?" I tease, even though I want her to. I need an alliance; I don't want to be by myself, all paranoid and feeling useless.

She pulls the knife out and nods. "You have me there. But, I'd like to think that shared histories over our parents' clear success has gave us some kind of... unspoken bond."

I can't help but smile. I guess Lucia was the one I was searching for all along. I nod in agreement, pulling my sword up. "Does this mean I'm accepted?"

The bell rings, signalling the end of the day. I barely made it. "I'll have to see what you can do tomorrow," she smiles, but then, they switch into a frown "Oh. And you're going to have to speak to Micah."

"How hard can it be?"

She laughs. "You'll see."

* * *

**Stefan Rui, District Nine Male.**

* * *

They don't understand how hard it's going to be. I know about it, I understand it, but living with the possibility that half of your life could become pure blackness is difficult. Remy doesn't understand that, but then again, I've never told him. I wouldn't either. When my family knew, they each reacted differently. I can't do anything without my older sister, Lucina, watching me all hawk-eyed. Only this time, Remy can only watch me through a screen and hope I don't have a meltdown that'll cause me to vanish from my mind.

No, there's no point. I'll have to avoid bloodshed and traumatic events in order to stay on my toes. Otherwise, when I flash out, I might never come back.

"Are you not hungry?" I hear Remy ask. It's not for me, but Lyra. She's been refusing to eat now for two days.

"No thank you," she mumbles, holding her doll closer. "I just want to go home."

"Well you can't and pleading isn't going to change it," Nicolet says venomously. "Your name was called and you'll more than likely die."

"Nicolet-" Remy groans.

"No, I think it's about time they got it through their heads," she carries on. "This is real, the pair of you. The likelihood is that neither of you will return in anything but a coffin. Heck, if you're lucky, one of you might be the Victor," her eyes are piercing, dark, but everything she spits is the truth I've already accepted. "But to even allow that thought into your head, you need to focus. Knuckle down and try hard. Your life is gone, and you won't be getting it back if your yearning for it is the sole thought in your mind."

Lyra sniffs. I look at her, just as the tears roll down and the quivering lip takes hold. She stands up and rushes out of the room, broken.

"You could have said it a better way." Remy glares.

"Sugar-coating the truth now won't help them either." she deduces, going back to her meal.

I know everything Nicolet says is right. It doesn't hurt me, not really. I've grown to accept that my life can be controlled easily, whether by a corrupt government or an mental illness.

Remy forks the meat into his mouth. "So um..." he looks up at me and swallows. "Have you tried anything yet?"

"I've tried a lot of things," I counter. "New food, new company, new hobbies."

"I mean in weaponry, training, surviving the Hunger Games."

"Does anyone really survive the Hunger Games?" I deflect, something I've grown accustomed to.

"Hit the nail right on the head there," Nicolet comments. She's only one year older than me, but has been a Victor for four years now. Winning at a young age, you have to respect what she says. "To answer your endless riddles, no, no-one survives the Hunger Games but that's the entire point of them. Tell me about weapons, go."

I steel myself. "What's there to tell? They have an assortment and I'm having trouble narrowing it down."

"You're really something else," she smirks as she stands up. "But you might also be the most idiotic person I've ever seen die... and I've seen a lot die."

Nicolet briskly leaves the room. I don't even feel the cut of her words but I should, I should feel a hollow sensation in my chest, yet I don't. I've overcome many hardships in my life - with mountains of pressure on my shoulder - and I'll continue to do the same whilst detaching myself from emotions. By keeping emotions properly, I can fall into the Fugue state more easier and then, my life will really end.

The silence is tense. Remy opens his mouth every now and then, tongue ready to spill questions without answers, but stops himself each time.

"I'm going to room now." I stand up, and that gives Remy the encouragement to drop his fork.

"Allies?" he quickly asks. "Have you made an allies, or even planned to do so?"

"Who can call them allies when they'll have to die eventually? Allies will only cause further heartache."

And, with that, I walk to my room. Tomorrow is another day of training - my last chance to do something - and from there, I have to place all of my hope onto some higher being that I, Stefan Rui, will not be fooled into emotions when the stakes are higher.

* * *

**Andora Seville, District Two Female.**

* * *

I push the training uniform over my head and walk towards the mirror. Compared to most, I'm already up and dressed. Cres is far too lazy when it comes to morning and, if you pay close enough attention, you can hear him and Siryn battling it out on who can snore the loudest.

Looking in the mirror, my lips twist into disgust. It's hideous, but I won't complain, I just have higher standards than even the Capitol could provide.

It's one of the many reasons as to why I don't want to be with the Careers. Of course, I shouldn't even be here but Evander has some vendetta against me. I don't know, it's not like I go around and insult people like some of the females in my class do. I kept to myself and trained, so when the time came, I could leave and move on with my life. But no, he wanted me here, chose me as the candidate and made me train harder than I've ever done so before.

But the Careers... they're something else.

I carefully twirl and twist my hair into a cascading braid down on side, thoughts drifting to Lancel who, apparently, got away easy. Siryn laughed about that one far too obnoxiously.

"It's time to get up!" Lennox laughs. "Losers, losers, you need to move!"

Smiling, I apply some mediocre make-up and leave the room. It'll have to do; it's not like I have anyone to impress. Cres stares at me like a lost puppy, Austal is just a creep, Gloria seems to always be brooding and Lakyn... well, to put it bluntly, Lakyn is an imbecile. I don't want to interact with any of them because at the end of the day, I'm going to watch each of them die and claim the unwanted victory for myself because I didn't even want this.

Lennox is sat at the couches and instantly looks at me. "And the beauty of our beast is already here," he smirks before twitching. "Has Cres not moved quick enough?"

"I don't know." I deadpan, sitting at the table, as far away from the psychopath as possible.

"Someone isn't friendly in the morning." he bursts out laughing again. How could they let him live?

"Someone isn't friendly most of the time." I mutter under my breath, pouring the wheat and yoghurt into a bowl.

They just don't understand. It's all trivial and unnecessary, making friends and allies before entering a place where everyone needs to die. Even talking to the mentors isn't worth it because each of them had their own, successful ways, but it doesn't mean it'll work twice. Could have simply been a fluke.

Cres comes out next, but there's no sign of Siryn. He ignores Lennox's jeering as he takes the seat next to me.

"Have you seen what the other tributes can do?" he asks. "Our leader is waiting to know."

"Our leader?" I echo. "You mean to tell me, that Lakyn, has claimed leadership over us?"

Cres nods. "She quickly told us where to go and what to do. You should've been there, you could've said something."

I'm not one to speak out of turn. Sure, I'll blast it down in my head, but telling them is only going to cause trouble and frankly, people just aren't worth it most of the time. I nod, though, sensing Cres' constant eyes. "I'm sure it was entertaining. Gloria could have said something, though."

"Lakyn is too... in your face, for that to be possible." he sighs and begins eating his breakfast.

"You know, guys," Lennox speaks up. I stifle my groan but don't bother to turn around. I don't really care what he has to say. "If she's that much of a problem, you could always bloodbath her. Careers dying in the bloodbath is quite entertaining to the Capitol. Not to admit that it is hilarious when the mentor gets all pissy about it."

"T-Thanks..." Cres smiles sheepishly. "We'll take that into account."

But, Cres won't. I don't think he'd backstab anyone that early. He could always tell Gloria, I'm sure she could throw a knife or something at her discreetly. From watching on the sidelines, it's already clear to everyone but Lakyn that Gloria doesn't like her. If anyone should it, it should be her.

Me? I don't plan on killing them. I'd rather let them die by other means and wait carefully, in the shadows, until I can walk away and go home. Just go home where I wanted to stay in the first place.

* * *

**Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.**

* * *

I move across the room swiftly, knowing where to go. I want to avoid people - Kristopher, in particular - and just focus on perfecting the image in my head. It all came to me last night after a discussion with Mercury. She's an intelligent woman and she knew exactly what I wanted to do, and in the end, she gave me tips on doing it the right way. Kristopher was sat nearby, but he didn't make it clear whether or not he heard us. He probably did; the boy is a complete idiot.

"Hi," I say to the woman behind the counter. She seems interested, but then she notices the number _'3'_ on my sleeve and her grin falters. "I want a laser of some sort."

"Of course you do, District Three," she drawls, happiness gone. She turns around and shows me the collection on the wall. "Here you go. The hand-held ones are the only ones we're permitting in the arena. The larger ones," she points to a huge one that looks more like a gun the Peacekeepers carry. "Are simply for lining up aim when using the archery station or throwing the knives. They aren't exactly weapons."

"I don't want it as a weapon," I brush her comments away. "I just want a laser that shines a bright, red light."

"They all do that, hon."

"Well then, you've just answered your own question, haven't you?" I smirk. She grumbles under her breath, something about being obnoxious, as she takes off a tiny, little metal object and hands me it. "Thank you."

"It was a pleasure." she smiles sickly sweet as I walk away.

With this, it'd be perfect. It's something that'll depend on the type of arena, but according to the notes I gave Mercury, she determined that it'd be indoors. That's what I need in order for this to work. If I haven't got that arena... then screw it, the Gamemakers are reading my mind or something. Or hate me for causing a fight during the Reapings, which, to be fair, I didn't even start nor engage in.

I move hastily across the floor towards the knives section, and when I arrive, I take the largest, curved one I can find.

With the laser, I'll blind them enough to charge forward and stab a major artery. I'll be looking to kill in one swift motion, just to avoid unneccessary injuries and mental damage. This will be something that no other tribute has used before; Mercury complimented my genius and I smiled, nodding along because I knew it already.

"Hey Amp," I groan. I turn to Kristopher's voice, seeing his bright ginger hair. "A laser? How... hipster of you."

I glare at him. "Don't you have some jokes to make somewhere else?"

"I'm never going to forget that lightbulb joke," he smirks. "Because, a lightbulb is turned on a by a switch, and you're my switch, Ampry." he adds with a wink.

"You just... oh, god, just go away Kris, I'm trying to do something important," I shield the laser from his eyes, but he cranes his neck annoyingly. "Kris! Go away right now!"

"I guess that being allies is off the table, no?" but, instead of answering, I spin him around and begin to push him away. He laughs heartedly, thinking I'm only playing. "Okay, see you later!"

When he's finally walking on his own, I scurry over towards the dummies in the far corner. For some reason, this area is empty. Each dummy is perfectly full and round, even the trainers aren't looking with careful eyes. It's the perfect testing grounds. I pull the laser forth and examine it. Finding the little button, I flick it up and watch the red line shine bright with a grin. Time to test it out. I move the light towards the dummy's face and then his eyes. Imagining the scenario in my head, I lunge forward and plant the knife in the soft chest. But, rather than seeing red cotton float to the floor, it's white. Not a killing point. I reexamine the attack and learn my mistake - I went too far to the left, missing the heart. Stupid, Ampry!

"Focus, Ampry." I encourage myself and repeat the process on the dummy to the right.

Practise makes perfect, and in this case, an easy kill and a smoother road to victory.

* * *

**Bryony Dubois, District Eight Female.**

* * *

"Hey cutie," I smile down at the District Ten girl, who looks up with alarmed eyes. "You looked lonely," I frown. "Did you want some company?"

"Um. You're okay, thank you," she offers. "I like being on my own. It's better that way."

I sit down, unable to stop frowning harder. "Why would you say that?" I ask. "Being on your own is never better. Surrounding yourself with friends and loved ones makes everything... easier to cope with."

She bites on her bottom lip, but doesn't respond. I can only take that as a good sign and cross my legs properly. I watch her intently as she moves the pieces carefully. The trainer, nearby, says a few words of encouragement as she puts the machine together. I don't even know what it is, but it looks all pretty and shiny. I don't want to interrupt her, but her words have left me feeling odd. It's upsetting, someone so young and fresh feeling the way she said.

When she finishes, she looks up. The trainer shakes his head and she sighs.

"I think you did really well," I comfort her as she stands up. "Look, I don't know your name, but I'm Bryony."

"Asya." she responds softly.

I stand up and realise how much I tower over her. She's so cute, wide-eyed and bright cheeks, watching me out of curiosity. "I suffer from a condition," I offer her. "Come with me?"

She's hesitant, though. "I'd rather not."

I take her hand though, and little Asya seems even more frightened, like a little rabbit in headlights. What's so wrong? I go to lead her away, when I somehow hit a small crack in the flooring. Asya instantly lets go and I fall to the floor with a thud, the wind knocked from my throat. Quickly, I laugh it off, but Asya's eyes are still looking at me. It's only then that I realise that my top has lifted up, revealing my stomach and the dozen, ghostly lines that mar it.

I tug it down consciously and stand up, feeling the heat smother my face. "Sorry about that," I mutter. "I just wanted to show you my allies, Joshua and Rafe. They play music!" I quickly chirp, hoping she'll forget it easily enough.

I can tell she feels guilty. It's in her eyes, swimming around. She sighs and allows me to take her hand one more time. I lead her across the busy room, dodging the groups in their clusters. As we scoot pass the knife-throwing section and the wicked girl from District Four, I notice the little girl from District Nine. Maybe she needs an alliance too!

Asya's grip tightens as we detour towards her, a ragged doll locked under her arm. She doesn't even notice me coming and when I tap her on the shoulder politely, she jumps out of her skin.

"I'm sorry!" I quickly apologise.

Her eyes narrow and she collects her abandoned doll on the floor. "It's okay," she mutters. "Can you leave me alone, please."

The words die on my tongue and it takes a moment to remember why I'm here. "But... but you looked lonely and we're willing to have as many allies as possible in our motley crew!"

"That will not work out," she recites in a small, frail tone, like she's much younger than she is. "Too many allies means that someone is more likely to die. Not to mention that, eventually, someone will have to kill the other."

Asya's grip is still deathly on mine but I continue to look at the strange girl with bewilderment. She's so young, fragile... I doubt she can go in it alone! It's absurd! But, with her doll tucked under her arm, the little girl walks away with a second glance at me nor Asya. I guess she's not a sociable person. It's sad; we could have made quite the team.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" it hits me and I yank Asya with me, completely forgetting that she's still slightly unwilling. Joshua and Rafe will confirm it all for me and settle Asya's obvious distrust and unease.

It'll be great; we're going to have so much fun!

* * *

**Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.**

* * *

What's the point? There is none. My efforts today - like yesterday and the day before - won't matter because, according to Macaulay and his insightful ways, the private sessions tomorrow will set me up with the sponsors I need and a better chance. Everything else is pointless and giving away my tricks; that's Kristopher's little note he gave me, not long after he somehow conned me into being his ally.

Kristopher picks up the knife and flashes it to the light. "You'd think they'd make it, you know, not shiny," he looks at me. "How are you expected to kill someone when light could give you away?"

"Considering knives aren't solely for the arena, I believe they're shiny so you don't stab yourself. And, it's metal, of course it's going to be shiny." I smirk.

"Stop being a smartass," he teases. "I'm the joker of our group, you're suppose to be the lazy one."

"I'm not that lazy." I argue.

"You kinda are," he turns around. "I mean, you won't stab a dummy because it's obviously too much effort."

"You told me to hide my tricks, and I'm doing that. Besides, I think I'm coming down with something. Whooping cough, perhaps."

"Don't use my words to cover up your poor excuses."

"I'm not making an excuse," I fake a cough. "See? I could be seriously ill and you're tormenting me. Whose the better person now?"

He smirks. "Still me, because I'm not lying through my teeth."

Silence fills the air as I quickly try and find something to retaliate with. Instead, I'm left with dust. "You're a dick."

"What can I say," Kristopher responds arrogantly. "I happen to be witty," he places the knife back on the table and steps back. "Where'd you want to go? Oh, stupid question, you'd rather sleep on the gauntlet's mats."

I narrow my eyes. "Why don't you choose and I'll show you that I'm capable."

Kristopher smirks, the challenge now in the air. He quickly claims it as he points towards a station in the far corner, where the "special" weapons are contained. "I believe our battleground is located over there."

Without a second thought, I walk towards it and Kristopher trails. I'll prove him wrong. Sure, I might be lazy, but actually calling me out on it is rather rude. He cannot think what he likes because I don't want to be known as lazy; I want to be usual and show him that, as much as he doesn't like it, I'm his equal. He's not even that arrogant but he constantly uses the word and it's grating, after a while. With each step, I urge myself to show him everything.

"What do you want me to use?" I ask, but Kristopher steps around me and approaches the trainer.

"Can we have... some shears, please," Kris asks politely. As the man disappears under the counter, he turns to me. "You know, I'm not trying to make you feel stupid or anything."

"You just think I'm lazy."

"You're the one who said it yesterday," he smirks. "Look, you don't have to prove yourself to me. I asked you for an alliance because you seemed like a decent guy."

The trainer pops up and hands me the funny scissors. "Yeah, well, I'm still going to do it." I say to Kristopher, before walking towards the cotton mannequin.

It's not that it'll be hard, but I just don't see the point in all of this. Anything. I'm more than likely going to die, and the same goes for Kristopher. You need to be extra special and stand-outish in order to be favoured that spot. I mean, last year with the little runt and his poison, he was something else and, because of that, he was more safe. What can I bring?... my attitude and charming personality won't be good enough.

I take aim. I pull the shears back over my head and launch them into the mannequin's "heart", effectively drawing out red cotton that floats to the floor like the sheep in my district when shearing season was about. It makes me nostalgic, but I push the thoughts down into my mind and take another swing. Kristopher will never be able to tell. I turn around, gaining a thumbs up from my ally.

I doubt that we'd be able to survive. But, if Kristopher wants to be optimistic, I'm not about to be a douche and wreck it all with my negativity. I might be lazy, but I'm hardly horrible.

* * *

**Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

This is just peachy. I glance back at the clock, reminding me that I have about twenty minutes to find an ally, otherwise I haven't got one... and there is no way I'm entering that arena without an ally. That District Seven girl, Rotem, I thought she was cool because she looked pretty and decent, but turns out, she's just another freak like the rest of them. I mean, seriously, each tribute seems messed up in their own way.

The Careers females are a no go. The girl from District Three, well, she's just a loner and a nerd rolled into one. District Six seems to flighty and creepy, and District Eight is just weird to look at; that isn't going to win me any sponsors now, is it?

I need someone pretty. I need someone cool, calculating and a total bitch. I need someone like me.

The District Nine girl - still carrying the pointless doll - brushes up next to me. I look at her, remembering that time in school where all the cool kids were looking at me, judging me, and I needed to show them that I was deserving to be in their clique.

"Can you move please?" I scowl, still facing forward at the station. "Your weirdness is making it harder to breathe."

"Okay..." she mutters, and then, she walks away.

"Wasn't that lovely of you."

My head snaps around. The District Five girl stands there, her big, pouty lips smirking. "Yeah, well, I don't want little kids to be near me, thinking I'm some babysitter or something."

"I see," she nods. "Couldn't you have just asked her to move in a more polite way?"

"You wasn't the one she was ogling at." I defend.

"Your life must really suck if you need to put others down with pathetic banter," she challenges. What? My eyebrows arch, heat rising in my body. "It's much more rewarding and shows you off in a better light if you use intellectual words and pronouns."

"She's, what, twelve? Doubt she'd know what I was talking about if I decided to spew rubbish."

Her puffy lips are still curled into that smile. "I'm Ellery," she declares, as if she's something important. Then, it hits me. This is the bitch I was looking for. She reminds me of Jasmine, the most popular girl in my school who I both envied, admired and hated. "What's your name?"

"Caritta. Caritta Husk," I cross my arms. "Ellery, so like celery."

"Caritta, thus like a carrot."

I chuckle. "This was definitely destiny."

"I wouldn't believe in something so pompous, but yes, if you want to believe that," she holds out her hand. "I guess that means allies, right?"

She wants to be allies with me? This is even better. Ellery has done all the work and came for me, rather than the other way around. It makes things easier and I can feel the pride swelling in my chest. I clasp her hand and give it a firm shake, much like Daddy when he confirmed a huge deal back in his office. It makes me wonder, though, if that girl got punished or not... she should've known better. Oh well, Daddy will deal with her.

"If we must," I answer, shrugging nonchalantly, even though inside, I'm happy. "What can you actually do?" I question. "I mean, alliances are great and all, but you need some skills otherwise this-" I point between us. "-this is pointless."

She laughs dryly. "I can utilize a knife. I think that will do when coming to kill someone. And, yourself?"

"Machete," I reply, like it's no big deal. Ellery's eyes widen slightly in surprise and I have to fight the smile from painting on my lips. "Which, if I'm correct, is much better than a knife."

"My weapon is both light and easy to handle," she counters. "But, believe what you may."

We stand around for a while before I decide to prove my worth. I take the machete from the table and proceed to hack away at one of the dummies. Ellery watches with uninterested eyes, and feeling everything slip away through my fingers, I throw the damn weapon, splitting the white forehead open with a wicked slice. Ellery claps in slow motion, as if she's being sarcastic which she better not be doing.

"It was... average, at best. But you have potential and I think this alliance isn't as pointless as you believe."

Before I'm able to respond, the bell goes off and tributes begin to file into the canteen. Ellery politely waits for me, but rather than walking at her side, she takes the lead and guides me through the motions of collecting my food and taking a seat. As I sit down on the metal bench, I realise that rather than sitting on my join, I'm sitting at the cool table.

I can't stop smiling as I eat my food.

* * *

**Lucia Bailen, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

"Micah, please come out," I knock for what seems to be the umpteenth time, but to no avail. "I'm so sorry Micah, but the more the merrier, right?"

"I didn't even want an alliance!" he shouts back. Well, if he didn't want one, then why is he reacting like this?

"Cliff is a really nice guy! I think he'll be great with us in the arena."

There's some movement, a shuffle of some sorts, before the bolt is released and the door opens just a crack. Micah's petrified face peaks through, eyes ablaze. "You pushed me into an alliance with you and then you brought Cliff in without discussing me. He might not like or trust me, Lucy! Don't you see?"

"No, I don't," I frown. "Cliff wanted some allies. He knew all about you, and if he didn't like or trust you, do you think he'd ask to join?"

"It could all be a ploy," his lips are pressed into a line; he's serious. "He could be doing this to split us up and then... and then, he might, he might betray us!"

I swallow thickly and switch my footing awkwardly. "I think you're acting a little irrational," I supply in a small voice, treading carefully. "Please, just talk to Cliff? When he approached you today, you just walked away."

"That's because you made the alliance with him yesterday and chose not to tell me. You had the time last night. Why didn't you then?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this!"

"Then why are you bothering!" he shouts, slamming the door and returning the bolt to the lock.

I sigh, scratching the back of my neck. I don't know what to do. Me and Micah, we're suppose to be allies because we're good friends, but Cliff is charming and sweet and really, he's probably a lot more stronger and capable than Micah is. We need more stability because me and Micah, we don't bring that together. I want to be positive about this, but I just don't know how long Micah will hold the grudge. I hope it's not long - I want things to be okay before we reach the arena. I want him and Cliff to be laughing and smiling, just like brothers.

I only wanted to increase our chances by accepting Cliff.

I turn around and walk down to my bedroom, but Crispin is quick to notice, walking from his. "Everything okay?" he asks. "Micah wasn't at dinner, so I didn't know..."

"He's um, he's okay," I force a smile. Crispin's eyebrows furrow. "Honestly. He's just... it's hit him hard, I think. We got a new ally, you see."

"Oh really?" he smiles. "Who else?"

"Cliff. He's the District Five male," I nod along and Crispin's smile grows. "Thing is... I did it yesterday and never told Micah until today."

"I see," Crispin frowns. "I'm sure Micah will get over it. But remember, Lucy, that district partners trump allies most of the time. Micah is... fragile, and when you asked him for an ally, he was probably really happy about it. No-one should be the leader; that's where the Careers go wrong most of the time."

As Crispin walks past me, he lays his hand on my shoulder for a brief second. I guess Cliff will just have to bring Micah around; no matter what I say, he's going to feel betrayed. I sigh again, feeling like I've disappointed myself. I try to be so peppy and helpful and I think I've made it much worse.

We haven't even reached the arena and everything is crumbling through my fingers. I'll try and make it all work. I'll be the leader and the rock. I need Cliff, I need Micah, and I need them to like each other for everything to be okay. I was wrong, but I can make it right again.

* * *

**Warrior by Disturbed.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?_**

**_Favourite alliance thus far?_**

**_Overall favourite tributes from all twenty-four?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Okay, so, the alliances are: the Careers without Lancel. Rafe, Joshua, Bryony and Asya. Lancel, Thorn and Rotem. Jericho and Arietta. Kristopher and Wayne. Cliff, Lucia and Micah. Ellery and Caritta. And, for loners, we have Lyra, Stefan and Ampry. ****Some are still technically unconfirmed in the sense that it hasn't been written... so if it's on the blog, it will happen, whether you've seen it happen or not. For instance, Jericho and Arietta isn't confirmed.**

**I don't do well in the Capitol. It's hard to weave plots and everything here...**

**Also, there is a poll on my profile! It's just asking for your top five favourite tributes. It may affect my choice on the bloodbath and it may not. All depends on other variables.**

**Lastly, I've started the Collection of the Damned one-shots. It's not necessary to know about my other stories, but it'll give the pictures on the blog some more life :)**


	6. High Hopes

**High Hopes.**

_Running before time took our dreams away._

* * *

**Lakyn Vale, District Four Female.**

* * *

"Odyessa," I say, walking into the room. "I don't suppose I can borrow your curling iron, can I?"

Odyessa smirks, her black, wavy hair being something I've always envied. "I suppose you can," she smiles. "Since you're not River, I don't mind too much. I'd rather scorch her than allow her to use my stuff."

I take the item from the table and smile sweetly. "What if your brother ever asked you to use it?"

"I'd let him..." she decides. "But I'd watch him like a hawk because Octavian is a piece of shit whom I don't trust."

"I quite like Octavian." I think back to how... adorable, he is, when he eats his cereal and drinks his coffee.

"That's because you see one side of him," she rolls her eyes. "Everything likes him. I know all of him, and trust me, it's not all that likable."

I've always liked Odyessa. Her attitude combined with her looks have made quite the lethal woman. I admire that, I desire that. It's one of the few reasons why I do what I do. I do it for a thrill and to see how easily people can be shaped and mended, all with a bit of drama, flirtation and manipulation. I smile once more and leave the room, satisfied. I literally skip down the hall past Austal's bedroom - where I can hear him mumbling to himself, standing in front of the mirror - before entering my own.

I plan to look my best today. Not only will I show my skills, but my other... assets. I'm sure there's an elderly Gamemaker who finds lust in younger females.

I plug the iron in and warm it up. Come to think of it, I should know the Gamemakers this year. I remember hearing about them through the grapevine. One of my friends, higher up, she said she took a visit to the Capitol and got money from them for her deeds. She told me, but it slipped my mind; I just remember the jealousy I had for her getting what I always have wanted.

Warmed up, I wrap my hair around the piping hot metal.

"Laky-"

"Ouch!" I shout, recoiling from the hot metal that just touched my skin. Anger flushes my face as I stare through the mirror at Austal. "What do you want?"

"I just," he mutters, tilting his head with curiosity. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to walk down with each other, that's all. It's your choice."

Putting steady fingers to the growing welt, I hold back the scream in my throat. "You're okay, Austal," I hold back as much as possible. "I have... much, much more to do before I'm ready."

"But you wanted to be down there ea-"

"Walk away now, Austal," I glare. "Before I put this hot iron somewhere on you and see how you'd react."

"But Lak-"

"Now." I demand.

Austal scurries away like a lost pet. He's weird, too weird, and I don't like that. I tolerate him but nothing more. I won't go out of my way to talk to him, nor will I to kill him. He's just there, all the time, on the outskirts of my perfect group, marring the complexion of us all. When I know he's gone, I gaze into the mirror, pushing away my hair to see the mark. Anger flares in me again and I slam the object down onto the table.

In my job, one bruise or cut can ruin you. This... this could end my career. But, I guess that's the price to pay for the Hunger Games. If I win, at least the Capitol can fix me of any blemishes and make me even more beautiful than I already am. I rise, quickly checking over everything before I walk to the elevator. I push the button, ignoring Octavian or Dorfin's presence on the couches, before entering.

The others better be there early like I told them to. I take my job as leader very seriously, despite everyone assuming I'm playing around. If needs be, I'll show them I'm capable of ruling with an iron fist. Of course, I want to be friends, but we'll see how that turns out eventually.

* * *

**Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.**

* * *

We're all gathered at the table quickly, being the first tributes in. Not only did Andora want to make a point - despite not having spent any time with us - but Lakyn was clear that she wanted to sit right by the door, just to intimidate every single tribute that walked through. It was her way of cementing her authority upon others. I play idly with my thumbs, the silence speaking volumes of how broken this Career alliance actually is.

No-one is speaking. Of course, that's because we don't really work. Lakyn tries her best, and I admit, whilst it's hard to swallow, at least she's trying, whilst everyone keeps to themselves. Austal just stares at people awkwardly and after training with him, I know that he's... bitter, about being bested. I trained for a while with Gloria, and despite her rough around the edges attitude, I know that she's probably the most normal of us.

The girl from District Eleven walks in next, head held high. Lakyn instantly sneers.

"Hey girl," she says, causing the girl to turn around. I lower my head, not wanting to see this. It's cruel and unnecessary. "Have you thought about how you want to die yet?"

I peek through my arms and watch her hold strong. "Actually, I was wondering how you wanted me to shove my sword up your ass," she retaliates. "But I guess we're at a stalemate now."

She carries on walking and Lakyn blinks. I notice Austal smirking, whilst Gloria and Andora are indifferent. Oh, no. Being open, she looks at me. "How dare she," Lakyn gasps. "You need to sort her out, Cres."

I gulp. "Why me?"

"Because you're the muscle of the team, duh," she grins. "I'm the beauty, you're the muscles, Andora plays the black sheep, Gloria is the cute little addition who stands on the sidelines and Austal is like the pet dog."

"Okay," I shrug. "I'll handle it."

Gloria's name is called. She rises - barely growing any taller - before walking off without a second look at us. She'll do good, I just know it. Everyone will do good, I just don't know about me. I don't mind pressure, but this... I can't explain the sudden nerves.

Yet, the thought of being soon makes my skin crawl. I'm not prepared, I never have been. I tap my foot against the floor and Andora watches me, disgust clear in her eyes despite never saying it. Oh god, I'm not ready. I close my eyes and try to focus on everything Father taught me and everything I learned here. I'm so scared and I hate that. Soon enough, Lancel the loser, as Lakyn dubbed him, is called.

So close. So close. I'm not ready, but I am, but I'm not. I feel sick. It's even worse knowing, just knowing, that you can't speak to your allies because they are the most anti-social teenagers to walk in Panem. I've only ever wanted to have some friends, and the one year I volunteer, I have allies that hate it.

Andora is called. She stands, looking directly at me. "Don't screw it." she says, before walking away.

"So she speaks," Lakyn chirps after she's gone. "I was beginning to think she was mute. But oh, she's so cute and sweet the way she doesn't speak to people because she's shy."

She doesn't speak because she doesn't trust anyone. I wish I knew that feeling, but I'm putting too much hope on the others changing and opening up.

Minutes feel like hours until the guy walks back in.

"Cres Rhodes, District Two." he calls.

I stand up, surprised by my shaking hands. Lakyn nods knowingly, but the thought makes me even more queasy. My fate is quite literally held on someone's decision; a decision that I can't influence much.

* * *

**Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.**

* * *

"Ellery Haynes, District Five."

"About time," I say to no-one in particular, though Caritta glances upwards. The Careers and the District Three pair have taken their time. I mean, the rest of us have better things to show and frankly, I'm surprised they could do anything but stab or gut the cotton dummies a bit. Caritta looks at me, eyes in awe. "What?" I stop.

"Just going to wish you luck, that's all." she says defensively.

"Luck isn't needed. Luck is for people who have no chance and want to shield themselves from the obvious." and, with that, I walk away, leaving Caritta no doubt speechless but it isn't that hard.

The man leads me down a hallway and then towards the door. He holds it open and I enter, keeping my lips pressed into a line. I glance up at the Gamemakers booth, lined with the varied, colourful Capitolites. They watch me, expecting me to say something, but I simply move across the room towards the mechanical station.

It was something I never showed off, but I thought the idea behind it was ingenious. I remember someone at my school designing something similar, although mine will surely be put to better use. I collect the scraps of metal, before moving over towards the electronics. Everything will piece together and I can feel the burning eyes. Good, have a look, because this is something you've never, ever seen before. I move into the middle of the room and sit down.

"What is she doing?" I hear one mumble in a high-pitched, girly voice but definitely a male's.

"Oh shut up you little worm," a stronger, woman voice replies. "Leave the girl be."

I smirk, continuing to piece the metal together with the bulb as the centre core. I attach the button, fiddling around hastily.

I check my time, realising the numbers is ticking down. I move faster and faster, fingers ghosting over as I move it together. I'm intelligent, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Standing up, I take the now cutting orb and move over towards the knives, collecting a large, serrated one.

Turning around, I hold them in the air. "Watch," I say, gaining their attention. "I'm sure you'll be astounded."

I press the button and throw the orb into the air. The bright, blue light flashes constantly, and I can hear their moans of displeasure. The light is disorienting, I admit that, but that's the point and if they can't see that, I can't work out how they made their climb to power. I move across the floor swiftly and begin carving into soft, white flesh of the dummy. The knife slides across graciously, when suddenly, the light stops.

Their sounds of awe bring a knowing smile to my face.

"I told you that you'd be astounded," I smirk. I look over at the picture drawn carefully into the dummy's chest, showing the keen detail on dissecting someone, showing off their weaker, vital points. I turn back again and bow. "I believe I've finished early."

"indeed you have," one of the identical men smile. "You're free to leave, Miss Haynes."

I walk towards the elevator quickly, feeling proud. As I rise up, I can only think of telling Nebula and warranting her reaction. Sure, I'm provoking her, but Nebula has done nothing but deem me inferior when, really, I am above her by miles. She's just delusional.

The doors open, but rather than Nebula, it's Elesa. "Oh, you."

"Yes," she replies quietly. "Did it go well?"

"I'd rather not share explicit details," I trail off. "But, if you must know for Cliff's sake, then understand that I gave it my all and I plan to win. He should look over his shoulder more often."

* * *

**Jericho Castillo, District Seven Male.**

* * *

Arietta's name is called. She stands up from her table with her district partner and his allies, smiling away with care. I watch with intent from closer to the door, having sat on my own. Me and Arietta... I don't think we're allies. I mean, we could be, I wouldn't know, but I don't want to ask. Yet, I need to know. I guess that some higher power could take its course, but what if it doesn't work?

She moves fluently through the crowds. Her eyes lock with mine and I suddenly feel uplifted. Come on, Jericho, take a brave step.

"Arietta." I say as she stops next to me.

"What is it, Jericho?" she says dreamily. "I don't think they'd like me if I waited too long." she laughs lightly.

"I just..." the words have died on my tongue. Panic seizes me and I gulp, desperate to regain my confidence. Arietta studies me for a while before frowning, beginning to walk away. It's now or never. "Are we allies are or not?"

She stops again, turning around. "Pardon?"

"Allies. You and me. Are we...?" I scratch my neck. For the last three days, I've done nothing but paint with Arietta, spend my time watching her and then attempting the tomahawks for a little, before getting distracted and looking back at her. "I just... I need to know."

"Okay!" she beams. "But I really, really have to go now," she moves a strand of light brown hair from her eyes. "I'll speak to you soon, okay? But yes, yes, it's a yes."

She soon glides away and I'm left happy, feeling sick but definitely happy. I took a step and it worked. Arietta... she has an ally now, and so do I. Even better, it's not a trust founded upon worth, but friendship and kinship, and it's instantly stronger and more stable in my mind.

I watch with diluted eyes as Arietta's district partner is called, and not long after that, Rotem is as well.

I can do this, I know I can. I do okay under pressure, but really, the only thing that'll make or break me is whether or not they want more than one thing from me. When I do something, I like it to be extreme. I want to go the extra mile to ensure that it's done right. Will they understand that? I'm sure most tributes have shown a multitude of things. The frantic thoughts race through my mind when suddenly, my name is called.

I rise, alone, many eyes locking on me. I'm a threat, according to Spruce. He said it with conflicted, angered eyes, but he was right - my looks might make me a threat, but that doesn't necessarily mean I am one. I hurriedly move through the canteen and down the hall, entering the door and trying to take a deep breath that feels lodged in my throat.

I'm too jittery to wait for them to guide me, so I begin. I rush over towards the large tomahawk, grasping it and feeling more content and secure. I awkwardly take a slash to the white skin. When white cotton floats down, I begin to methodically slice until nothing but red feathers spill out. I keep going, my mind thinking of the worst possible thoughts. I don't sugar-coat it either; I imagine the Careers torturing Arietta, Rotem being dragged away by a Mutt, the little girl from District Nine being split open. By thinking of the extreme, it gives me more motive.

When I step back, I smile. The dummy has been ripped to shreds. Good, it shows potential. Maple said I needed to show them that I'm not only strong and confident, but that I'm not expendable; I'm someone who everyone will want to watch. Of course, denying the confidence, I feel like I did okay. I step back and turn around, trying to make eye contact with them.

"You may leave now, Mr Castillo. Please leave the weapon by the door."

"Well he isn't going to try and sneak it away with him, is he?" another voice counters.

Ignoring them both, I hand the weapon to a stand-by trainer and enter the elevator. I hope I'm not in the middle for scoring. I either want to stand-out or be hidden in the shadows. One extreme or the other, it's the better option.

Not to mention that it gives myself and Arietta a better chance for gaining sponsors.

* * *

**Asya Novik, District Ten Female.**

* * *

I stand in front of the door, shaking violently. I've never felt so scared before in my life. The attendant pushes the door open, revealing the lights, but I'm hesitant. As much as I want to will myself to move forward, I just can't do it. I don't want to go in there... I'm afraid of what might happen.

"Miss, you need to go in there," he points in the door, as if he's talking to some little child. I nod, but he doesn't stop. "Right there, right through that door. All you have to do is walk through."

"I understand that." I reply quietly, forcing my first step. When the next one won't move, the attendant roughly shoves me through and slams the door behind me.

I stand wide-eyed for a moment, just blinking at the enormous room. It feels much bigger without all the tributes and trainers. Instead, up in a booth, a group of Gamemakers are watching me with sickening, judgemental eyes. I move forward slowly, unsure of what to do. Rafe gave me some encouragement - in the form of a rhyme - whilst Bryony just chirped how cute I looked and how my looks will be enough. Safe to say, it didn't make it seem less daunting.

Where to go? I glance around until I see the knife station. Yes, that's simply enough. I motion across the room and take the smallest dagger I can see. Gripped in my hand, I take to the dummy and push it inwards. I recoil and repeat, taking several stabs. Satisfied, I leave the knife in there, implanted in the chest.

I look at the clock. Only a couple more minutes. I bite on my lip, still looking around until the fire station comes to mind. My heart stops, but at the same time, my mind races. I know how to make a fire; I knew that before coming here after years of being independent. It's a safe bet, but so many things could go wrong... I need the score. I need to get sponsors, otherwise I might not be able to do it so easily.

I have no choice.

I hurry across the room and take the flint, sticks and leaves. Settling down on the mat, I place the leaves in a pile and aim the flint and sticks over it. I grind them against each other, blowing carefully to encourage the flickering embers. The fire suddenly sparks to life and I grin in delight, lowering it downwards... that's when a breeze moves through the room.

It happens in slow motion. The wind gently carries a single ember, floating across the room until it lands at the base of the rope course.

It won't happen... of course it won't happen...

The fire roars to life at the base of the rope. I shriek, standing up hastily. The Gamemakers behind me are in a panic, and from either sides, trainers rush across the room in their padded uniforms. I watch in horror as the fire eats away at the thread, going upwards and upwards. It meets the joints, spreading out like a fiery spider web above me. Someone grabs my wrist, but my eyes are locked on the disaster I caused. Smoke fills the air as I'm dragged across the room. Tears lean heavily on my eyelashes as I see a piece of burnt rope fall onto the mat, instantly igniting it in the same golden tendrils.

I'm pushed into the elevator as chaos and screams erupt. Behind the man's head, I see the metal net, once pressed into the ceiling, crash onto the floor, knocking away a woman attendant like she is nothing more than a doll or insistent fly.

The man runs away and I'm compelled to follow out of guilt, but the metal doors shut, taking away the scene. For a moment, I just stand there, shocked. I don't know what to think, say or do. I bang against the metal door, but the elevator only responds by rising.

I really am bad luck. Everyone was right about me; I can't do anything without causing some harm. Because of me, the Training Centre has burned. The doors open again, this time on our floor. Serena is there in a hurry, hands on my shoulder and guiding me into the room. Does she know? Have they told her? She sits me down on the couch opposite Macaulay, but I can't stop shaking. She goes to wrap her arms around me, but I recoil, standing up and fleeing from her.

I'll only ever cause more harm. I tried to tell Bryony that on the last training day, but she didn't listen. By the time she understands, it could be too late.

* * *

**Micah Amaro, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

The District Ten girl has been ages. I can't help but expect the worse, rubbing my hands over and over in my lap. Lucia is sat opposite me, as are District Eleven and the boy from District Ten. Why haven't they called him? Why haven't they continued?

It's something bad, I just know it. Oh god, they've killed her, executed her for not being good enough. They're like that, they're monsters who only like entertainment. Why if I'm not good enough? Will they kill me too? Oh no, oh no, I just can't let that happen. I want to live!

"Are you talking to me yet?" Lucia asks.

I look at her, my eyes obviously frantic seeing as she frowns and Lucia is far too peppy to frown. "I haven't decided," I spill. "I don't know what to think of Cliff."

"He's really nice, Micah, just give him a chance."

He isn't all that bad, I admit. He asked me some questions, took notice of my life, but that was it. He was nosy, if anything, prying his way into how I work and how my brain connects things together so he can find a weak point and then murder me when Lucia isn't looking. I know his game, I can see it in his dead eyes. I struggle to stay composed and resort to bringing forth my handkerchief once more.

"Micah... it'll be fine, I'm sure they'll call him soon." she attempts to comfort me, but she doesn't know that, she doesn't know anything because they won't let us know. They hide it from us, bringing about paranoia until we can't even recognise ourselves.

"I wonder what's taking them so long," the boy from District Eleven says thoughtfully, looking at his district partner. She shrugs it off, looking at the table. "I think something bad has happened, though, you know? I'm almost sure of it. Either that, or she done really, really well."

"It's obvious she's dead." I speak up, and all eyes are on me.

"Micah!" Lucia berates. "Don't go around saying those kind of things, not here," she leans across the table, her voice but a harsh whisper. "You don't have any evidence."

"I don't need none," I speak louder. "It's clear they've killed her and are now trying to burn her body so that we won't find out!"

"If they did kill her, who will take her spot, genius?" the girl from District Eleven deadpans. "Exactly, the public know her, it's too risky."

I think for a moment. The Capitol are intelligent... what if they've cloned us? We're expendable, after all. I bite down on my tongue when Lucia cuts in, though.

"Precisely," she confirms. "Micah is just... feeling the pressure. He doesn't mean anything really."

That spurs me on. "I can speak for myself, thank you," I glare. "And no, I do mean it. She's probably dead and if we don't do good enough in there, we're probably next. I wouldn't be surprised if... if there's a machine gun in the ceiling, aiming for us when we don't dance good enough!"

I can see the others reacting now. They needed to know, they needed to understand how we're all puppets. The boy from District Ten stands up, face sullen and drawn. He sighs but walks out into the corridor, disappearing towards the Training Centre. He doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's... he's... going to spy on them for us! Oh no, he's as good as dead. He's too reckless. I run my hands over and over in my lap, Lucia's once bright smile now etched into a dark frown.

"They needed to know," I whisper across the gap. "Besides, you didn't tell me about Cliff so we're even now."

She snaps her head towards me. "It's not a game, Micah. Cliff will be good for us... but this, this was ridiculous. You have no proof that she's dead. Maybe she broke something and they're cleaning up? Look, try and be more positive, don't be so glum," she breaks out into a smile. "We'll know when they tell us what happened."

A few minutes pass before the boy returns. His face is still the same, no change. Well, he hasn't seen the blood and dead body then, or he just didn't care about her enough. I thought district partners had a bond? Will Lucia care? I look at her accusingly.

"Tributes," I look over her head at the man as relief floods my system. "We had a slight problem with faulty equipment. No need to panic. If you would be so kind, follow me to the makeshift Training Centre we have planned. There, you can conduct your private sessions."

"What about the girl?" the District Eleven boy asks. "The girl from District Ten. Wacko over there said she's probably dead. Is she?"

The man smiles. She's dead, I knew it! "Of course not. Now, please, follow me."

* * *

**Kristopher Midden, District Three Male.**

* * *

"Did you hear what happened?" Mackenzie says to Mercury. She shakes her head without looking up from her book, and he giggles. "I heard that a particular little girl from District Ten actually burned down the Training Centre!" I look at him, wide eyes. Wayne's district partner? "Rumor has it that she went feral and took a torch to the rope structure!"

No-one responds but Ampry's sudden arrival is welcoming. I smile, but she simply glares, notepad tucked under her arm as she sits at the table. This is like the laser all over again, hiding things from me so I won't question her obvious methods. I mean, Ampry is a smart girl, but sharing is caring and everything. I get up, moving across the room and pulling out a chair next to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" I smirk.

"You can do whatever you like." she retaliates, flipping the page open and clicking her pen.

"Like magnets, we attract, you see." I tease, looking over her shoulder. Is she going to note down the scores? That's pretty clever. Damn, I should of thought of something similar.

"They also tend to repel, like you do me." she mumbles, but the television roars to life, so I keep quiet.

This is the part that can make or break a person, according to Mercury. People win with low scores still, but a high score could mean not going hungry or having a useful weapon in a dire situation. My goal, however, was to be average. Average means holding up the front that I'm clueless and in this for a laugh, when in reality, I'm in this to win.

Hermes Abbatone comes on the screen. He's been doing this for thirty years, but still looks like a lecherous, living porcelain doll with curly, wurly hair. This year, it's blood red, and I briefly remember my flashing suit from the chariots, highlighting my hidden, darker side. He speaks for a few moments, putting each of us down for being weak or ugly.

The first picture is of the boy from District One, the ex-Career, according to whispers on the wind. He's still probably trained and just as deadly, just with a better moral compass. Underneath his picture is a blood _9_, proving my theory that he is, indeed, a true monster at heart. From the corner of my eye, I see Ampry swiftly scribble the details down.

His district partner is next, short and spunky. She's wicked at throwing things; me and Wayne watched her throw a spear, a knife and then a shuriken star, all aiming near the centre of the target. A precise aim means a deadly one, and because of her size, she probably puts more control on it. Underneath her radiant picture, however, is one better. A _10_, dripping with killing instinct and intent. Again, Ampry writes it down.

"I want to look at that after," I mumble, eyes focused on the screen as the Career boy from District Two is next. She looks at me, incredulous. "Only for memory sake, Amp. Oh come on, do me a solid. You know, besides attract and repel, magnets also work together."

She grumbles, not saying anything, as she writes down the boy's matching _10_. Then, she slides it in the middle of us. She doesn't say anything still, but the action is appreciated.

His district partner, however, falls flat with just a _7_, lower than a Career's expectation should be. I hum as the screen shifts to me. I did all I could, I just need it to be in my favor and be middle. Dead in the middle with a 5 or 6, and I could cry with happiness. Then, I almost do, as a _6_ flashes bright.

"Yes!" I fist-pump the air as if shifts to Ampry. I hold my breath on her behalf, but she's unnerving and calm as she matches me with a _6_.

Yet, I can only think of how everything is falling into place perfectly. The next two Careers fly by so quickly, I have to look at Ampry's notepad to clarify. I was so absorbed in happiness that everything was working, I wasn't paying attention. The boy from District Four claimed a spirited _8_, whilst his district partner had only gathered up a _7_, mediocre in everyone's eyes.

It's working. I'm still in the game, Dad.

* * *

**Arietta Fenton, District Six Female.**

* * *

I'm so nervous. Constance expects us to have done well, whereas Lorcan doesn't care too much. It makes me feel conflicted, one ear being whispered that scores mean life or death, whilst the other is being told that it all depends on the arena. Who do I listen to, my mentor or the person whose been at this the longest of the two? I don't want to be sad or confused, but they're making it worse.

"I don't know whether my score will be good or not," I admit to Rafe next to me. He looks at me, eyebrows knitted. "I mean, all I did was paint. I didn't learn anything else..."

"Why didn't you try something else?" Rafe asks. "You had everything at your dispense, Ari."

I didn't want to use anything because I didn't want to be violent. My father, who used to be a Peacekeeper, was surrounded by it. When he got the job, he told me his title and I was only young and naive - Peacekeeper should mean peace, right? - but it didn't, and he often came home with weathered eyes. "I don't know," I lie. "What did you try?" I deflect quickly and Rafe brightens up.

"Some weapons, some music," he laughs. "I thought I'd entertain them with a little melody I wrote up," he smirks now, devilish. "I doubt they were that impressed."

"What?" Constance perks up. Oh no. I look to Rafe, his face slightly draining from her unnerving glare. "Did you purposely set yourself up for failure?" I keep my eyes locked on Rafe. "What about you, Arietta? No weapons at all?"

The screen suddenly flashes with Cliff Harlaw's picture, and underneath, his score is a _6_. It's impressive. I avoid Constance's eyes at all cost, still looking at me and Rafe with obvious anger. Lorcan, on the other hand, sits idly by her side, watching the screen with a soft smile.

"No, I wanted to stand out," Rafe defends. "Isn't that the point of it all? To stand out?"

"By being impressive, not singing them a lullaby." she counters.

Cliff's district partner is next. My skin begins to crawl and I know Constance is looking at me again, eyes piercing and judgemental. Her score, however, breaks the tension as the blood _7_ flashes repeatedly. I shift awkwardly, attempting to subtlety turn away from her. We're next and I feel the pressure as it is, I don't need Constance's added fury.

Rafe's picture appears. I hear him hum casually, as if it isn't bothering him. It shouldn't be bothering me, but it does. I don't know whether I should lean on Constance or Lorcan more. Being torn, right in the middle... it magnifies everything. My eyes narrow in on the empty space underneath his picture, willing it to move. It bursts onto the screen. _5_. I don't think the Gamemakers were that impressed with his song.

"That'll do," Rafe grins, and then, he slips his hand into mine. "Your turn."

"You both deserve low scores after your stunts." Constance sneers, but finally, she looks away.

I sigh in relief as my picture comes up. Please be good. Please be good. _5_.

It could be worse, I suppose. I take it on the chin and grin from ear to ear, satisfied. Jericho will do better, I just know it. His picture materializes and I can't help but smile softly. I let out a little squeak when it shows his impressive _8_. Rafe grips tighter, and when I look, he grins. "Congratulations." he whispers.

Jericho's district partner manages to bring a _7_ to the table, keeping on par with her Career ally. Again, just as impressive. I'm sure Jericho's happy for her; he's always said that he cares about her, like me with Rafe.

Rafe's allies are next. His grip becomes shaky, nerves for his allies taking over. The boy from District Eight pulls a decent_ 6_, whilst the girl only gets a _4_, the lowest score so far. It's only one smaller than Rafe, but it's still the weakest. Rafe lets go, sadness glossing over his eyes.

"It'll be okay," I swallow. "Lorcan said the scores don't matter," even though I'm still undecided myself. "I'm sure she'll still do good. So will you, Rafe."

"I hope so," he smiles weakly. "I really do hope so."

* * *

**Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

Lancel did well. Rotem did well.

I gulp heavily, feeling the pressure. I need to do as good, if not better. I need to have done the best I could, despite the circumstances. They never told us what happened properly, but the Training Centre burned. We completed our private sessions with minimal weapons and the Gamemakers much, much closer, just inches from us. When Kane's eyes graze over me and Caritta, sat close despite our bitter relationship, I feel like the whole of Panem has fallen on my shoulders.

It was like this before. They used to put me down, tell me I wasn't good enough, and when I finally proved it, they bowed. I need the tributes to bow, otherwise... otherwise I'm nothing once more.

The District Nine male is next. I wonder how he done? He's older, broader. He looks wise beyond his years too. I suspect it'll be good. We should have asked him to join us. Underneath, in blood red, his score is simply a _6_.

"I thought he'd do well," Caritta speaks up. "Of course, he has that whole homeless person look to him. Probably not the greatest of starts."

"Looks don't matter to the Gamemakers, Caritta," Kane smirks. "Okay, actually, they do," he turns around. "But they care more about a show then what the cast looks like, otherwise, they would've fed the rest of Panem a lot better so they didn't look so hollow."

The face of the little girl from District Nine appears. For the first time ever, I see her without the doll. It's strange. It almost feels like the Capitol has ripped away her identity. I gulp again, feeling almost guilty for her. She gathers a _2_, the lowest score for the youngest tribute.

District Ten is next, and they start with the boy, hair spilling into his eyes. He manages a _5_, an average score. I want to do better, I need to do better. At one point or another - even with Lancel and then Rotem by my side - I used them all as example. I wanted to be better than them all at something. When the girl from District Twelve butchered a dummy, I made sure to do it quicker. When the boy from District Six built a trap, I made sure to make a more complex one.

Each time, I had to do it. I had to be better. I needed to continue to prove them all wrong.

The other young tribute is next, the girl from District Ten. The fire-starter, Delorean had so rudely dubbed her. Will her score be impressive, having damaged the entire room in the process?

In blood red, a _4_ pops up. Again, pretty average for her age, but they should've gave her more compensation for possibly scarring her. Unless, of course, she's a psychopath.

I bit the inside of my mouth when I see my picture. They'll be watching at home, Mona and Briar, staring with wet eyes but secretly judging their little brother and his poor excuse of a private score. I need it to be good, for them, for Rotem and Lancel, for myself.

I manage to pull a _7_. My eyes widen in surprise, the number taunting me with a mocking flash. It doesn't feel real, but then Mako is turning around and smiling, and it all rushes into me. I jump up, shouting out loud.

"Yeah!" I cheer, the screen faintly turning into Caritta.

What will she get? A _6_ is the answer. It's good, it's a brilliant score. Caritta clicks her tongue with amused eyes. "I did better than I imagined," she says truthfully. "But everyone else still sucks in comparison. You're all going down once we're in there."

In my mind, I accept the challenge as District Twelve is next. The boy - his crazed accusations repeating in my mind - as his score is revealed to be a simple _4_. His partner, much more stable, gains two higher with a _6_.

Hermes comes back, taunting us some more with wicked eyes and a lecherous smile. The screen suddenly goes black. We all sit there, dazed in a good sense. Caritta rises and leaves without another word, before Mako retires to bed. Kane lingers, his eyes gazing over my form.

"Well done, kid," he congratulates me, but not patronizing like Briar would do when I actually failed. "I can tell you'll be something else."

I hope so. That's my aim, after all, with my life coming in second.

* * *

**Lyra Chambray, District Nine Female.**

* * *

"Hannah, I don't know what to do," I mumble, placing her on the bed. I pull at her straw hair mindlessly, thumbing the ends. "My score wasn't good enough. I don't know what that means... but Nicolet said that I won't gain sponsors now."

Her silence makes me nervous. I look up at her, feeling the tears.

_"It's okay Lyra,"_ she echoes, her stitched mouth eager to speak. _"I'll be by your side all the time. I was before, when it happened, and I'll do it again."_

"How can you be so sure?" I plea with her quietly.

_"I'm sure of everything,"_ I pull her close, smoothing out her tartan dress. _"I told you that everything would be fine and it was... eventually."_

"Eventually," I mumble. "It took them ages before people looked at me normally again."

It's true. After it all happened, people acted differently. They would avoid me in the streets, calling me a murderer. Someone threw a rock through my window, scaring my father... he grew distant with me when the rumors grew vast. I couldn't find evidence. There was none. I was deemed a murderer over an accident. But, Hannah was there, her sweet, button eyes being the only sense of comfort and love I could find. I was beyond happy when the nice lady told me that Hannah could stay, seeing as she was my token.

Silence fills the air again. _"I promise to protect you,"_ she suddenly replies. _"I'll always protect you."_

I climb up from the floor, sweeping Hannah into my arms. I lift the covers back and sink in, Hannah still pressed against my chest. Tears spring to my eyes, and I can no longer try and be strong. With Hannah, I don't need to be. She's able to look after me.

I soon drift off into sleep, my cheeks wet and chest tight.

When I wake up, Hannah hasn't moved. I smile tiredly, but then it hits me. I only have one day in the Capitol, before I'm sent away. Hannah will be with me, though, and that's all I need. I get up, leaving Hannah on the pillow as I go and shower. Under the spray, everything feels harder and more heavy. I don't know what to say or think. I turn the tap off, getting out and drying off. It's easier with Hannah by my side.

I move swiftly from the room, when I see it. The Avox kindly handles Hannah, placing her on the bedside table. I blink a few times, shocked by the young lady. My lip quivers and I move across the room, pushing pass the woman and scooping Hannah into my arms once more.

She looks at me but doesn't say anything, then I remember she can't. "She's my token," I mumble into her wispy hair. "I need to keep her safe."

The Avox bows. She goes to walk away, but something compels me to grip her hand. She looks taken aback, as if I'm broken some code, yet, she doesn't try and move. I whimper slightly and pull her closer, urging her to the bed. She falls onto the blankets she just recently made, before I wrap my arms around her waist, pinning Hannah between us.

I want to cry. I want to cry until I have nothing left.

Everything is so real. Everything is so terrifying. As Remy said, I couldn't gain an ally, not when I can't trust them. I have to do it by myself, but I'm only twelve. How can I win against Careers who gain double-digit scores, and tributes much taller, wider and older? I can't. I can't win.

In the end, I don't fight it. I cry again, tears soaking into her black and white uniform.

I pull back slightly, sniffing. "You're suppose to do as I say, right?" she nods meekly. "Then I want you to comfort me... p-please."

She does as she's told, placing steady hands on my back and rubbing them in circles. It's something my parents never did for me, something Hannah never could of.

It's not that comforting, but it's better than just me and Hannah. She can only look after me for so long, before it'll overwhelm her too.

* * *

**Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.**

* * *

"Where's Bryony?" I ask when I enter the main room. They both look up, Pippin's face tight and worried. I instantly think of the worst, my own face falling.

"She's still having a shower," Velvet supplies for Pippin. "She hasn't come out yet."

I remember, briefly, a conversation me and Bryony had about the interviews. Hermes Abbatone was known for being cruel and picking out faults, and I did wonder as to whether or not Bryony would feel comfortable, him poking at her obviously different looks. She hid it all behind a smile, but I know, I just know that she must secretly be worried about what he's going to throw at her.

"I think I'm going to check on her," I tell them, walking away before either replies. I scurry down the room until I'm stood opposite her door. Carefully, I give it three knocks, a little code that we had developed over the last few days. She doesn't respond, so I repeat it. "Bryony? Are you out of the shower yet?"

The bad thoughts return. I knock again and again, frantic, before the door swings open and Bryony pokes her head through. "Oh... hi Josh," she mumbles. "I was just getting changed."

She's never, ever called me Josh. From the reaping to now, it's always been Joshua, since she finds my name cute. I worries me even more. I care a great deal about Bryony, whether she knows that or not. I feel obliged to look after her and worry about her feelings as much as my own.

"It's just they - Velvet and Pippin - said you've been in here ages," I awkwardly reply, my eyes drifting down to the light, bare skin on show. She truly is as white as now. "I thought... I mean, are you nervous, about tonight?"

She shrugs again. Then, like a defense mechanism I know all too well, a grin plasters across her face. "I'm super!" she chirps. "Honestly, I just need to get changed really quickly and then I'll be out, I promise!"

The door closes. I faintly hear the lock being clasped back on. Whatever is up with her, she won't spill.

Defeated, I go back into the main room. Pippin slowly eats his toast, staring absently at the wall as I sit down next to him. He doesn't even notice me; he's that screwed up from last year, that he'd rather trap himself in his own mind. Not to mention Velvet's obsessive behaviour has come to light, constantly washing her hands or eating her meals methodically.

It's a cruel joke, a bad line, a fated love. It will always end in disaster, one way or the other.

It doesn't bring me confidence. I mean, Pippin won last year, and never, ever has two consecutive places won straight after the other. If the District Eight boy won last year, then it means my chances are basically zero. Nobody likes a knock-off and that's what I'll be, as long as Pippin is still alive and barely kicking. Bryony has a good chance, though, so does Rafe. Asya could do well... she's lucky to have us, in all honesty.

My heart hiccups again. I don't feel like eating, so I push the bowl of corn away from me. Every part of me aches and feels numb. I am numb, I'm numb to it all. Why bother? I'm basically a dead man walking. We are all, in retrospect, but I'd like to believe that, under different circumstances, some of us could've been close friends or that, if the tribute pool was different, our chances at victory would've been great.

You never know, with the Quarter Quell coming about fast, a twist might be the push they need for a young tribute to win.

Bryony soon skips out, head-to-toe in black. It contrasts well with her pale skin, but Spring instantly gasps. "Bryony! You look... wonderful!"

She does a twirl on the spot. "Really?" she blushes. "I didn't think black would be my colour, considering everything."

"Oh no no no, I'll have to change everything now," Spring continues. Pistach, however, doesn't look invested. "You'll look great in a black ballerina dress, topped with ribbons and sashes and oh, we need to move fast!"

Spring stands and Pistach begrudgingly follows. Taking Bryony's hand, Spring leads her to the elevator and I follow quietly. No matter what she wears, Bryony will still be a target tonight. Me? I highly doubt he'll find a weak point.

Except, you know, the odds for me practically being zero.

* * *

**Gloria Lavelle, District One Female.**

* * *

Mesmer eyes me up as I sit on the chair. I don't like Mesmer all that much; she's tall, beautiful and very brash. She's basically Inspire but in a more... colourful form.

"I told Pallas that we needed to use heels on you," she comments. Not for me, but rather about me. I'm suppose to sit quietly and just nod along, like I'm a brainless stereotype. "Stilettos. Five... no, six, six inch stilettos. You're perfect apart from your height."

"Thanks," I roll my eyes, the anger make my skin burn. "I've always loved being told that."

Compared to Aphrodite - but much like Lakyn - I don't have respect for Mesmer. She's talented, there's no denying that, but she's selfish and conceited. I might be slightly arrogant, but I have a backbone and years worth of skill up my sleeve. According to Mesmer, she's done this for three years now. Not nearly as long as me. That, and she's taller and lithe. It always feels like she's looking down at me, towering over my smaller frame with a wicked smile.

She continues to circle me like a vulture, carefully eyeing me up. "If you wear heels, they need to be seen. You'll look stupid if we try and hide the fact that you're rather dumpy."

Dumpy? I grit my teeth at that comment, willing to let it slide. Short is one thing, but now she's basically saying I'm disproportionate. Is my head too big? Waist too wide? She better not say, otherwise I don't know what will happen. I glance around the room aimlessly, spotting her bag and equipment, but more important, a pair of tiny scissors. Those, yeah those. They'll find her eyes if she calls out more flaws of mine, just like Inspire and Grace would do.

One time, even Chalice did it, completely by accident. She learned not to again.

"Red would look unflattering on you," she determines. "So would any bright colour. You're too pale; they'd make you look almost alien. We'll have to go with peach, I believe."

Peach, sure, that's great. I don't really care what I'm dressed in because it won't save me. It's trivial and mindless entertainment; the arena is where a person truly unfolds. The interview beforehand simply shows a lie, tributes all acting kind and polite, just to be favoured. I don't plan on being false or using my looks, so when Mesmer suggests a dress that is far too high, I put my foot down.

"I want just above my knees," I command. "You say that a fall gown would look stupid, well, making me look like a slutty seven-year-old will do the same," I watch her expression twist into that of horror and anger. "Just here, right above the knee please."

Her face continues to shift between the emotions before she sneers. "With your figure, though, it will look ridiculous."

Something Inspire would totally say. "Well, it is my body and I think I know what suits it better," I hold off the glare. "So I want a dress just above my knee. I want to be known for being powerful, not being a slut."

"Fine," Mesmer sulks. "But don't come crying to me when people mock you for being prude," she moves behind me, but I know the sneer is there. "Now, do you want peach, your highness, or is that too below you?"

I don't bother to retort. Just like with my sisters, arguing will only lead to annoyance and frankly, they were never worth it either. They got under my skin... but I always had to bite my tongue, just because Inspire and Grace were the favourite children. I was the one who tried too hard to stand out, or was too idealistic, or in Inspire's word, was delusional for believing I could do something. Being dressed up and flaunting what I have, that will only reinforce what they all think. I need to change that, otherwise volunteering to spite Inspire was pointless.

"Now, let me dress you up." Mesmer continues.

"Of course."

"Don't get smart with me," she hisses in my ear, pushing my blonde hair down one side. "Otherwise I'll make you look like a clown, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

I think she'd prefer that, but her reputation is on the line and clearly, that's more important. Not my life, but her reputation.

So when she pushes me down into my seat properly, running her fingers through my hair, I allow her. I need to save my energy and wrath for the arena, where I can kill and prove them all wrong that short, dumpy little Gloria is capable of more than they think.

* * *

**High Hopes by Pink Floyd.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Thoughts on the scores?**_

_**Favourite POVs?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

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**Nothing to say really, but the scores are on the blog if you forget them.**

**I wanted to try some different things, which led to poor Asya and her incident... and then Micah's outburst. That was fun to write. Yeah, I feel better about this one. This is early because, with Claustrophobia nearing, I'm working out that as fast and fluent as possible, which means that this is second to that. The next update might be a little longer than my planned week.**

**Yeah. Okay. One more chapter, and then the bloodbath! The arena is totally hidden, but you're more than welcome to guess ;)**

**Oh! The poll is up to look at too :)**


	7. Secrets

**Secrets.**

_'Til all my sleeves are stained red, from all the truth that I've said._

* * *

**Stefan Rui, District Nine Male.**

* * *

I watch with absent eyes as Marrion shows me my suit, a deep brown with matching tie. She seems happy, content, but I can't bring myself to smile back or even acknowledge it properly. What's the point? This suit isn't exactly going to save me when I have to fight.

"Lighten up, Stef," Marrion calls me, and I cringe slightly from the nickname, something my friends used to use. "I'm sure that the interview will go fine. You haven't got anything to worry about."

"I suppose not," I shrug. "But why is an interview needed?" her eyebrows rise curiously. "I mean, an interview is glorified to showcase certain aspects. Every tribute plays into their hands. Why? Why not be honest up there, and tell the whole of Panem about how you hate the idea of killing and possibly dying?"

Marrion is stuck, her lips moving without purpose. "I'm not sure," she mumbles. "But it's been something that has happened for decades. A tradition, if you will."

"Traditions can change no matter the age." I counter.

Marrion doesn't respond, instead running the suit through her fingers. She feels uncomfortable no doubt, with her lips twisted. I decide to keep quiet and allow Marrion to do the rest of the requirements, such as measuring me to ensure that I haven't gained or lost any weight since the last fitting, before adjusting the lapel and ironing out the tie.

Tonight, the interviews begin. I can only hope Lyra will do something memorable. Frankly, it's sad, because she's remembered for all the wrong reasons. Lyra is a nice girl but she's... odd, and that makes her stand out. Not because she's young or the fact that her odds are next to nothing, but because she latches onto her doll as a safety net.

"Marrion, do you believe that Panem can change?"

The question throws her off and she stumbles, the needle piercing into my skin. I bite down on my tongue and allow Marrion to recover. "Um... boy, you're full of questions, aren't you dear?" she laughs awkwardly.

"I'm inquisitive," I correct her. "Well, with the Hunger Games having reigned for so long, you'd expect some people to continue to carry the simmering flame of rebellion."

Marrion's hand slaps over my mouth. "Stefan!" she shrills. "You shouldn't say that..." she looks around the room, eyes darting around. "You never know who are watching."

"But why hide it? Shouldn't a government be encouraging individuality?" I say, when she pulls her hand away.

"Are you really that naive?" she frowns.

"No," I admit, because I'm not. I studied in school about both the first rebellion and the threat of the second one, and I do know why. But I've never had the view of a Capitolite to debate it with. "I just wanted your input."

"My input is that we shouldn't discuss this, no matter what," she whispers. "Now, please raise your arms." she deflects.

I raise my arms, feeling the slight tremble behind my eyes. I'm sure that, if I focus, it will go away. As long as I avoid anything that could temporarily blind me into numbness, such as death, blood, violence, then I could be alright. I could survive. But, in here, my odds are as weak as Lyra's. It isn't looking good for either of us. One bad sight, and I'll be paralyzed. I won't even remember anything. I could die, without ever knowing what my last sights were.

I can only take that as a blessing in disguise.

* * *

**Lucia Bailen, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

"Micah," I sigh, as he stomps ahead. I chase after him, picking up my ballroom gown. "Micah, you need to listen. We can't keep doing this."

He spins around, eyes flared. "Doing what, Lucia? I don't trust him!"

Lucia. Well, that hurts. He's never called me that since our alliance. I bite my bottom lip and look over my shoulder, Cliff standing there with a slight, comforting smile. He's trying, he's so badly trying, but nothing is changing Micah's mind. I'm split between the two, and you can never smile when you're pulled from both sides. I don't like smiling; I don't like this.

I turn back, sighing again. "You just need to listen to him. Honestly, he's a really nice guy when you've talked to him for a while."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover." he seethes.

"Precisely!" I exclaim. "You're being a hypocrite if you don't give him a chance," Micah narrows his eyes at me, but I raise my hands. "Your words, not mine. You shouldn't judge him before knowing him."

I mean, really, after Micah's outburst before the private sessions, Cliff's addition into this alliance is looking better and better. I don't think I could deal with Micah's personality on my own... then again, if I didn't accept Cliff without talking to him, then Micah wouldn't have a problem to begin with.

I messed up, and I just don't know how to fix it.

Micah realises that he doesn't have an answer and turns around, walking away. I wait for a moment before he's gone, before ushering Cliff over. He's all wide-eyed and peppy, but it didn't work. When he sees my face, his own falls. "Oh," he frowns. "I guess I'll find another alliance..."

"No," I grab his wrist as he turns. "I mean, no, you aren't leaving. Micah... he'll come around, eventually... otherwise he'll have to find someone else."

"No, no no," he says firmly. "You do not leave him. You and him were allies before I came along. It isn't right."

"But Micah isn't giving me any other choice," he moves his hand from mine and pulls me into a clenched hug. "He's making it impossible to be there for him," I sigh. "I want you both, all of us, as a trio. I don't want a duo and then a single person, like a third-wheel."

"We'll work it out," he mumbles back. "I can always talk to him myself."

I just nod, because I'm too drained to argue. Dealing with Micah requires too much effort, effort that I can't afford to waste. If he was easier to handle, then things would be okay. But with each word or dramatic outburst he does lately, it chips away a little bit more at my positivity. I've always been positive - no-one has been able to take that away from me - but Micah is trying damn hard. Cliff is comforting and serene.

He pulls back, grinning. "I trust you." I say, because frankly, I do.

"Good," he smirks. "No-one has ever been able to resist the Harlaw charm. I managed to get you, didn't I?"

"With pure luck and trickery," I tease. Above, the buzzer rings and someone calls out the first person. Me and Cliff both turn around to see someone with a clipboard, herding us into a single file. As he reaches us, Cliff pulls away. "I'll see you soon?" I say, hopeful.

"Most definitely." he grins, and then rushes on ahead. I bathe in the afterglow for a few moments before moving into my position. Micah comes barreling down the queue, trying to get to his spot fast. He briskly passes me without a hello or smile, and my heart sinks.

Was it worth it? Was any of it really worth it? And, once more, another chunk of happiness breaks apart and plummets.

* * *

**Lancel Deimos, District One Male.**

* * *

Their eyes are practically burning into my skull, yet each time I turn around, they look away. And, by they, I totally mean Lakyn and Lakyn alone.

I try and focus my mind on the sole purpose, which is Gloria's interview. She sits on the chair, looking petite, eyes glowering at Hermes' every word. He goes about trying to insult her in every way, shape or form, yet they just roll off of her body. She answers each question with vigor and tenacity, keeping him at bay. She's doing exactly what Aphrodite told her. Swift, of course, told me that I should crawl into a hole and pray that a Mutt eats me instead.

But he's just ridiculous.

I wait patiently for Gloria to mention something about me, but the buzzer blares. She stands and waves politely to the crowd, playing up slightly despite her bravado. She waltzes down the steps towards me, eyes barely grazing over me before she disappears.

"I hope you trip up and die," I hear a voice, but choose to ignore it. "Traitor. Traitor. Traitor."

I jog up the steps, moving fluently in my crimson suit. The lights bombard my vision, a deep thudding behind my skull. I carefully trace the movements, having watched Gloria far too closely. I soon find the seat - accompanied by Hermes' sneer - and breathe carefully. Focus, Lancel.

"Lancel Deimos," he says quietly, as if we're talking about some secret. I inwardly hold my anger, knowing that whilst we can't outright call me a Career, he'll jump around the abandonment scenario. "What can I say about you? You're just..." the crowd leans forward. "Different."

"Is that good or bad?" I jokingly respond. The crowd laughs, eating out of my hands. "I was always told to stand out, so clearly that worked."

"For the wrong reasons, of course."

Ah, so here it is. "Really?" I raise my eyebrows, playing oblivious. "There's no such thing as bad publicity, Mr Abbatone."

"You can call me Hermes," he smirks. "I think we're friendly enough to be at a first name basis."

I smirk myself. "I suppose so. I mean, Mr would imply you're old, which you're totally not."

The crowd chuckles and Hermes' face reddens. If he wants to play nasty, then so can I. I know exactly how to backstab, trick and deceive. I might not be a Career, but I picked up a few handy tricks. He coughs, lips twitching into a snarl. "You're funny, Lancel," he begins. "But humor doesn't secure your life," there's a pause, the lights increasing. "And with your epilepsy, it might just be a problem."

My eyes widen. The crowd is eating it up, but for all the wrong reasons. No-one is suppose to know... only my family. The bitter thoughts cloud my mind - did they do this, just to spite me and my chances? I have to play it cool. I swing a leg up, tucking it underneath me. "I call it a flaw, but I can overcome it," I smile. "An ugly personality isn't a flaw, though, so I'd be careful."

"The same can be said about you and yours," his voice is angry, but he hides it behind a twisted smile. "Let's talk about your score, which, frankly, could have been a whole lot better, considering the backstage drama our sources have coined onto."

"I think a 9 is rather impressive," I deflect. "I mean, it could have been worse... I could've got a 7, just like Lakyn, the head of her alliance." I add with a smirk. Fire and fire means someone is getting burned, and it isn't going to be me.

"We'll get to the... charming Lakyn soon, but it's about you right now, you little chipmunk," he adds for good measure. I raise my eyebrow. Is the big bad Hermes becoming weak? "Why did you score so low?"

I chuckle. "If you believe that, you're as delusional as you look."

The crowd gasps. Everything falls silent, all except the clicking of the spotlights. I focus ahead, blocking out the attempts of a seizure. The more I ignore it, the easier it could become. I've dealt with this my entire life after all. I turn to the cameras, making sure one zooms in one me. As classy as ever, I stick my middle finger up.

"That's for you, dear parents. Suck on it."

* * *

**Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.**

* * *

So far, they've all been odd. The District One boy's buzzer blared early. I couldn't help but smirk as he left the stage, his action having set the bar high for the rest of the night. No-one should've been able to beat. Yet, the District Four girl went up there and talked and talked until Hermes done it again, pressing the buzzer early so she could shut up. Again, I smirked. Still high, still unbeatable. The District Five girl was even worse, leaving Hermes flustered.

Everyone has made an impression. I need to somehow do the same. I don't want to forever be cemented as the volunteer kid. I want my personality and life to shine, not be dampened out by that one action. No-one will understand anyway, so what's the point?

"Rafe Corinthos, District Six." someone says.

Taking a deep breath, I move forward, feeling the sleek, silver suit glide against me. I move fast, feeling the heat of the lights on me. There's a few cheers, just like Constance said would happen. I'm loved, even without doing anything.

I take the seat and smile at Hermes. He, however, grins wickedly. "Hello, volunteer."

A few people laugh. I shuffle awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable position. "Hi," I smile sweetly. "You can call me Rafe, if you like."

"So volunteer," he ignores me. "I think we all want to know why you volunteered. I mean, I already know, but they don't." he adds with a malicious, toothy smile.

"I didn't have much," i begin. I guess I could try and educate him a little. "I had nothing to lose but everything to gain. Either way, something good has happened."

"Selfless," he chuckles lowly. "Is that it? No valiant tale on how you spared a child from the Hunger Games?"

"No?" I reply, unsure. "But you kinda nailed it, I guess. I never thought about that," I answer honestly. "I only thought about the prospect of it all."

Hermes rebuffs the question, leaning forward. "Now, I hear you're homeless," I can't help but wince at that. I'm voluntarily homeless, it's not like I don't have a family, it's just... I guess this was the better choice. "Care to explain why?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

Hermes laughs and the crowd follows suite. They seem to take some pleasure in my obvious discomfort. "That isn't any fun," he pouts. "Can't you at least give us a smidgen of detail? Like, how long your mother has been a morphling addict?"

My eyes widen and my blood runs cold. I can feel the speeding of my heartbeat. How did he know? No-one... no-one knows about my mom. My mind races as Hermes leans closer. "I-I-I-" I stutter.

"Oh, well you're no fun," he pouts even further. "I mean, when I heard that you sung for your private session, I at least thought that you would be... free. Guess you're one of those depressing artists, huh?"

"I-I did more than sing," I counter, hoping the subject will change. "I stabbed and slashed as well. I even used the nunchucks."

"Yeah, yeah," he waves it away. "I guess I'm cutting this one short as well. I just can't catch a break this year."

I open my mouth to ask for another chance, but the buzzer rings. The unusual feeling of anger floods my veins and I stand up, unable to stop shaking. I see red, stomping over towards a plant and flipping it over by the pot. It clatters and smashes, but right now, I just don't care. I can't stop shaking so I move from the stage, leaving a once-more stunned Hermes Abbatone. As I storm down the steps and away from a charging Bryony, the anger subsides and guilt reigns.

I don't like being angry. I don't like the... loss of control. But, with the bloodbath beginning tomorrow, I guess I have no choice. I either fight or die.

I just don't know where my breaking point, nor whether I will cross the line and it'll be too late to save myself.

* * *

**Rotem Everly, District Seven Female.**

* * *

The District Six boy passes quickly. He looks angry, with his lips scrunched up. I frown, watching him go by briskly. Jericho nudges me forward, a smile on his face. I smile in return, feeling at ease with him. We may not be allies, but Jericho reminds me of Bence, and I like that. Bence was a great friend. He is a great friend, I remind myself as my name is called.

I blink a few times and walk up the stairs, instantly feeling conscious. I pull down the short, navy dress and scan over my shoulders. No-one is looking. I reach the top and turn again, just to ensure that I'm not be assessed. The District Eleven girl is in the distance, watching me. Our eyes connect for a few moments before my name is called and the lights zoom on me.

"Rotem Everly," I hear his name, calling for me. I walk out, keeping my hands by my side. Maple told me to act natural, whilst Spruce told me to be careful. I could combine the two, but I never feel natural and safe at the same time. I quickly move for the seat, falling onto the plush comforter. His eyes graze over my body, making my spine shiver. "Rotem. What an unusual name, for starters."

"My mother named me." I mumble. My eyes drift out on the crowd, their luminous colours blurring into one massive smear.

"Your mother has appalling taste," he erupts into laughter and the whole audience follows. I can't help but shrink back. "But, what I want to know is, after finding out from sources..." there's a pause that makes me lean closer, despite the danger. "Who your baby daddy is."

My eyes widen. "I don't... I don't know. Wait, do you know?"

"I do indeed," he grins. Is he happy? Does he know them personally? My mother was so adamant about telling me, saying that I was better off not knowing. "Would you like to know?" he gazes to the crowd. "Or, better yet, do you all want to know?"

They scream in response. "...but what if I don't want to know?"

"Nothing personal sweetheart," he winks. "When I have gossip, I just need to tell the whole of Panem. In fact, I even have a DNA test we took."

"How?" I gasp, clawing my nails into the seat. I can feel the sadness swallowing my chest.

"Our inside source took some of your hair after the chariots. It's always been a sneaky suspicion of the Capitol since your mother accepts payment from him," he laughs proudly. I feel even more sick now, looking at the sidelines for some support. Thorn is there next to Jericho, his face twisted into a frown. "Should we spill?"

"No," I whisper. He doesn't hear me, so I lean closer. "No."

"No?" he teases, bringing out the white form. My heart both leaps and falls. "You'll love it, Scrotum. Oh, I mean Rotem. You'll love it Rotem," he whispers darkly. "You will love it."

He keeps saying it, as if it'll change my mind. I might not understand other people, but I know my own feelings, and I trust my mother's instincts. I don't need to know. Knowing will only confuse me and I need to focus on winning, on surviving... on returning home.

"No," I repeat, voice louder. Hermes smirks, some light hair falling into his eyes. I bet he enjoys, playing me like this. I've seen him tear down all the tributes in front of me. "I don't want to know. I shouldn't have to know," I feel a sudden confidence boost, so I stand. "It's my life and I don't want to know. I've never needed him before and I won't now."

"It's not about that, but rather twisting your sanity before you even enter the arena." he replies. When will the buzzer go? I ground my teeth, feeling the tears well against my eyelashes.

"It won't," I decide to respond. "It won't twist anything because... because I don't want to know," I pause, swallowing thickly. "It's not important to me." I lie.

"We will see," his voice booms. "We will see. Panem, Scrotum Everly!"

* * *

**Bryony Dubois, District Eight Female.**

* * *

I play with my hair as I take the seat. He looks happy, I can tell, with his grin so wide and teeth shining as bright as the spotlight.

"You look happy." Hermes begins.

"I am!" I chirp. "This is all so exciting! I've never seen someone so brightly coloured. Well, I've seen the Capitolites before, but you're even brighter!"

His lips twitch into a bigger smile, and the coloured blur of the audience seems to rumble with deep laughter. I can't stop smiling, though. Rafe was really upset after his interview, but I don't know why. It is Hermes' job to pry and learn about us. He did get a little too personal, I admit, but I always imagined Rafe as being so tough because of volunteering. I guess he really isn't; it makes me worried for Joshua and Asya.

"Where should we begin?" he asks, voice high.

"Well I was born in District Eight, but you knew that," I smile. "My mom and dad were great but I was different. I never saw it. I mean, I did because I'm really pale, but I always saw my difference as unique. Anyway, I went to school and had quite a few friends but there were always some little children who stared to hard or people who avoided me. I never understood why-"

"Honey," he coos. "We don't care about all that," my face falls and his rises. "We really want to learn about the difficulties of living with albinism."

"I-I just said there wasn't any difficulties..." I mumble. "I mean, people stared, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed being unique."

Hermes suddenly pulls forth a slip of paper. He holds it in his hand, moving it around slowly. The audience laps it up, gasping and slightly cheering. What is it? A smile spreads out over my face and I lean forward, feeling the excitement build inside. What is it, what is it?

"Let me just read you this," he says, flipping it open and bringing it close to his eyes. "That girl is the devil," he utters and my heart lurches. "She's so weird. She's all peppy, as if she thinks she's something special. She's a freak, plain and simple," Hermes pulls away, smiling. "I'm paraphrasing, of course, but that's what some lucky residents of District Eight said when they saw you be reaped."

"What?..." I answer quietly.

He nods, confident. "You heard me, Bryony, don't be naive. People don't like your looks. They're afraid of you."

"I had loads of friends," I counter, my weak voice betraying me. My arms instinctively wrap around my tiny stomach, the many scars feeling heavy and deep against my heated skin. "They liked me," I repeat. "We used to have the occasional sleepover and picnics and talked about boys."

"They were obviously lying to you, dear. Oh, it's okay, I mean, Capitol citizens are judged for looking different but we're better than everyone else, so it's okay," he smiles. I like the Capitol people, just because they like to be individual. Why don't people like me because of doing the same? "Would you like to talk about something different?" he asks, and I nod hastily. "Okay then, what about these suicide attempts."

Everything in my body goes cold and, to keep lock on reality, I dig my fingernails into my side, finding comfort in the pain. I can feel the bitter tears leaning on my eyelashes. "W-Wh-"

"I know everything," he laughs again, the sound booming around the now quiet room. I can only hear the thick pounding of blood in my ears. "You've attempted it four times, one even only a month ago, according to my sources. You slashed your chest, didn't you?"

I can't even answer. My tongue swells, feeling heavy in my mouth. A tear slide downs my cheek, warm and cold at the same time. I cling harder, the sharp sting of piercing skin keeping me rooted. What can I say? That he's right, that I try and hide all the pain I feel for being different? Shivering, I stand up slowly and lift my dress up, revealing my bare chest. This is the only way to face it.

The crowd gasps and even Hermes falls silent. The spotlight narrows in, highlighting the multitude of faint slashes that litter my own stomach. There's no need to answer; this speaks volumes.

I drop the dress, turn, and walk off the hushed stage. The remaining tributes are waiting, eyes wide and mouths agape. Joshua wraps me in a comforting hug, squeezing tight, but I can't bring myself to do the same. Asya is over his shoulder, looking tiny. I smile softly, pulling away from Joshua and walking towards the exit.

I have nothing left to hide. I have nothing to lose, either.

* * *

**Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.**

* * *

"The interviews were... interesting, to say the least," Mercury fills me in. I didn't want to stick around and watch more disasters, but she was kind enough to breakdown the important parts. "Let's see... the little girl from District Ten fell down, ripping open her dress. They had to quickly fix it there and then," she pauses, gathering her thoughts. "And the boy from District Twelve ended up having his interview backstage, after refusing to stand in front of everyone."

"This year is full of characters, that's for sure," Micro adds. "Say, has anyone seen Kris?"

I hold back the smirk. "It's not like he could escape, Micro. He's somewhere on this floor."

"I don't think so," he ponders. "I'm almost positive that he never came up."

"That's peculiar," Mercury hums. "Should we send someone for him?"

"No, leave him," I say, standing up abruptly. "If Kris wants to get himself killed before entering the arena, that's his own problem."

No-one says anything. I think it's clear where I stand with Kristopher, and that's as far away from him as possible. He's a practical joker, loose and careless. He's reckless and immoral and obviously doesn't care that much about survival, seeing as he hasn't planned things through that much. He's as good as dead, and I don't want anything to do with that.

Then, on queue or his ears could have been burning, the elevator door opens, revealing the ginger boy-wonder.

"Hey," he chirps. "Sorry, I wanted to wait for Wayne to finish up. He went and got some food from downstairs, so we planned our strategy out," he moves over to the couch, falling down carelessly. "Cool, right? Our last supper and we discussed how to run and kill."

"Most certainly." Micro humors him.

I stand there, blinking at him. He looks up and instantly smiles. "Yo, my magnet," he winks. "Did you want to discuss plans with me? I'm an awesome strategist."

"Discussing plans with the enemy? That's bizarre."

"Enemy? That's harsh," he frowns, looking visibly upset, before a smirk creeps on his face. "Nah, it's fine. Thank you for your help on the scores, though. The list, I mean, considering I was expecting commentary and you didn't give me any."

"You're more than capable of working out your own presumptions." I counter, moving over to the kitchen arena, grabbing a handful of berries.

"Yeah, but I like to hear your thoughts. I value them."

"Precisely," Mercury mimics. "It's better for the pair of you to share what you can. Each tidbit of knowledge could save your life. Right, Micro?"

"Indeed. Except that one incident..." he mumbles.

"Oh yes, but we won't discuss that," she quickly covers. "Come on Ampry, debate this out."

I turn around, my eyes wide. Since when was she all for it? She was the one who told me that keeping a strategy a secret was the better option. "Fine," I grumble, downing the berries and moving forward. I take the seat next to Micro, far from Kristopher. "You're free to start."

"How do you plan on escaping the bloodbath?" he questions smugly.

I smirk. "By moving my feet one after the other, like most humans do. And yourself?"

"I can see this will be pointless," he laughs. "Though I like the bite you're getting. That will help you in the future, Amp," he stands up, Mercury and Micro's confused faces looking up. "For now, I shall retire. Save me a seat on the hovercraft, yeah? Cool. Sweet dreams and sunbeams." he laughs as he walks out.

Silence fills the air. Mercury and Micro have been stunned into silence. Then, it hits me. He lured me into that. He wanted me to be sarcastic. What is his game?

"Asshole," I grumble, slouching back into the couch. If he can act so casual, then so will I. He's confident and I have more reason to be than him, so let's see how it works for me. Of course, after a few seconds, the perfectionist inside of me complains and I stand up. "I'm sleeping. Goodnight."

My method will be better than Kristopher's. After all, who said a slacker ever got things done?

* * *

**Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.**

* * *

"Wayne!" I hear Macaulay call, his persistent knocking every morning driving me slowly and surely into insanity. When I don't reply, he pounds the door again. "Wayne, you need to get up now!"

"Five more minutes!" I shout back, pulling the covers over my head.

I had a late night, I don't want an early morning. I hate mornings, bright and early. Not to mention that the Hunger Games is later. Well, not later, but soon. That makes me dig into my comforter even more. Macaulay knocks again, before the lock turns and the door swings open. Pounding footsteps charge towards my bed before the blanket is yanked back.

"Wayne," Macaulay mumbles, his hand rocking my shoulder. "Wayne, you need to get up. Like, right now. You'll be going in the hovercraft soon."

"Have you been drinking this morning?" I groan.

"What? No, you know that I went into sobriety two years ago. I haven't touched the drop." Macaulay's tone turns defensive.

"Then there's no excuse for your behaviour," I chuckle. "No, seriously, I want five more minutes."

"You don't get five more minutes," his voice has turned harder now. With a rough shove, Macaulay flips me over and my eyes fly open. "Get up, lazy bones."

I blink a few times, staring at the ceiling. "You're insane." I deadpan, hearing his footsteps echo away. When I know he's gone - rather than sleep, which is what I want - I get up, heading over to the closet. I pull out the clothes and quickly change, not bothering to fold my clothes like Macaulay asked me to do repeatedly. Looking in the mirror, I grin. "Looking good, Fallows."

I leave the bedroom and enter the main room. Macaulay, Serena and Asya are sat together, eating their breakfast quietly. Noticing me, Macaulay waves. "Come on you."

I grumble under my breath and move forward, the sweet smell of heated wheat doused in sugar drifting to my nose. I take a seat opposite Asya, though I'm more conscious than normal. With all the rumors that surround her, I want to be careful. It all makes sense, if you think about. i tripped and hurt my knee when near her. Another time, Asya entered the main room and the television blared to life, despite nothing being aired. There's some off that surrounds her.

"Are you meeting up with Kristopher this morning?" Serena asks quietly. Obviously, talking to Asya didn't pan out, seeing as the little girl's hands are held tightly in her lap, face twisted.

"I might try and see him on the hovercraft..." I mumble. "If Asya doesn't mind, that is."

"Sure." she replies quietly with a shrug.

"It'll be better for the pair of you." Macaulay adds.

"If you say so," I mumble under my breath, pouring out some food. "I mean, I'm still probably going to die, but at least sitting with Kristopher will be good for me." I add on kinda bitterly.

"You don't know that you're going to die," Serena treds carefully, eyes glancing at Asya. "Either one of you could win and be a surprise," she looks away from Asya, directly at me, eyes full of wild fire and hope. "No-one is certain for survival. The arena alters the balance of everything."

I swallow the food and study her face. "Which also means that it could alter for the worse. I can die, Serena, or Asya could or we both could."

I can't hold the bitterness. Reality is setting in and that means my negativity follows suite; as much as I can try and hide it, it will prevail. I can only hope that I'm proven wrong by my own words, otherwise, I guess this is the end for me.

We eat the rest of the breakfast in silence, until Macaulay and Serena rise. Gently, Serena guides Asya from the room and Macaulay offers a comforting smile. "Time to go, bud," he says sweetly. Just try to think positive for once, okay?"

Yeah, as if that'll happen. But, for Macaulay's sake and putting his worried mind at ease, I nod. "I'll try."

* * *

**Cliff Harlaw, District Five Male.**

* * *

Elesa leads me up the stairs, her white hair swishing back and forth. She hasn't said a word, but I can't blame her. What can she say? I've been accepted into an alliance that isn't really whole. She probably thinks badly of me, considering Nebula has voiced her opinions on the matter.

She pushes open the door and light pours in. My heart quickens, pounding against my ribcage. The two large, metallic vehicles stand tall, the wind grazing over the smooth surface. It's beautiful. It reminds me of something that my parents would decorate the house with, just to show off their wealth to the rest of the district. With the sudden peak in energy, my family jumped on top of it, heightening their profits.

"Here you go, Cliff," Elesa suddenly speaks, her hand guided to the one on the right. "You take that one and Ellery will take the other."

"Any parting words?" I joke lightly, but her face only falls.

"It was a pleasure to know you," she says quietly. "Just try your best. Try and make Micah happier, okay? A broken alliance will never prevail."

She quickly departs, lips twisted into a frown. She has no faith in me, but I don't blame her. I mean, it's not like Ellery has ever said anything nice about my skills, because everything that leaves her mouth ends up being abusive in a passive aggressive way.

I hastily cross the rooftop, aiming for the Peacekeeper whose leading tributes up the ramp. Ellery suddenly appears at the side with Nebula, a quiet but tense conversation being heard. I slow down, prying in. "You can leave now," Ellery says sharply. "I don't need a babysitter."

"At least give me a goodbye hug before you go?"

I turn around, just in time for Ellery to shove away an approaching Nebula. She briskly turns and walks towards me, her face weathered and tight. She doesn't look too good, and that's coming from the positively confidence she normally radiates. She doesn't even acknowledge me, heading to the other machine. Does that mean Lucia or Micah will be here? My heart lifts slightly. If it's Lucia, I can feel comfort and possibly like I'm worth something. If it's Micah, I can try and make amends.

I can't contain myself. I rush forward, smile plastered on my face.

It's then that I see Micah, being ushered up the ramp by the Peacekeeper.

"Hey Micah!" I call.

He turns around, eyes widening. "Cliff," he mumbles when I'm practically on top of him, trapping him. "What do you wnat?"

I slap my hand down on his shoulder. "I'm here to bridge the gap, buddy." I say cheerfully.

He grumbles under his breath as we move into the spectacular vehicle. Micah moves forward, but I leave my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to bring me along. He picks the seat right at the end - my hand sliding from his shoulder - as he picks the seat right on the end, with the other seat occupied by the little girl from District Nine.

I'm forced to pick the seat opposite him. I won't let up. I need Micah to feel comfortable before it's too late. "So," I begin, looking at him. Of course, he doesn't look pleased. "For Lucia's sake, we need to get along."

"I don't have a problem," he mutters, eyes jerking around at the room. "Do you have a problem?"

More tributes flood in. "You don't like me," I whisper. "Why? What have I done?"

"You're going to kill me," he replies quietly. "You're a threat. You're trying to kill me so you can be the Victor," his hand is shaking against the arm rest. Instantly, I frown. "They're all out to kill me."

All the tributes fill the seats. I keep my eyes locked on Micah as the door shuts, trapping out the light. I zoom in on his facial features, eyebrows knitted and lips twisted. "Micah?"

"Leave me alone," he snarls, eyes dark. "Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone."

So, I do just that. I quietly slump in my seat, glancing up at the ceiling as the hovercraft rises. My stomach knots, but I don't know whether that's from the sudden altitude or the fact that my life could end in just a few hours, and at the end of the day, I still couldn't find a whole alliance.

* * *

**Austal Eridote, District Four Male.**

* * *

The hovercraft ride is rather quiet. I look to my right and then my left, trying to find some sort of entertainment. I don't like this - the silence - because it makes me feel suffocated. Mother kept me away from other children, telling me that they'd hurt me, but I don't see the problem now. I haven't made a massive effort, but no-one has targeted me. Cres was kind despite his obvious looks. Actually, he's the only person from our alliance whose bothered to talk to me. Lakyn does, but it's never nice.

"You okay?" Cres says. I don't know what he wants, but I guess I appreciate his effort, considering he doesn't seem to do it with either Lakyn, Andora nor Gloria.

"I'm fine," I reply more harshly than intended, instantly regretting it. "How are you?" I decide to ask.

"Oh, you know, kinda nervous," he chuckles lowly. "I didn't expect to feel so... odd."

I glance at Gloria in the far corner, but when her eyes meet mine, I flinch. She kind of scares me, if I'm honest. "I see," I mumble. "It'll be okay."

"You can't really confirm that though," he laughs again. "But thanks bro."

Silence falls again. The slight hum from the hovercraft is comforting enough. Then, I frown, gazing out of the window as it grows dark. Isn't it sunny or blue outside? I've always imagined white fluffy clouds and a beaming, hot sun. I can't place my finger on it, but something is up.

The hovercraft begins to slow down. My heart lurches forward as it suddenly twists, causing a few of the tributes to shriek in surprise. I blink a few times as the hovercraft soon steadies out.

"What was that?" Cres says aloud.

"We took a turn," I echo out the obvious. "Where are we heading?"

"We're going to crash!" the District Twelve boy suddenly shouts from the other end. Everyone's head snaps to him, his eyes trembling. "We're all going to die!"

"Highly unlikely since it isn't entertainment," the District Five girl berates. "You need to calm down, bloodbath material."

"You're bloodbath material!"

She only scoffs in response. I can see that people are slightly freaked out by his words, and if I'm honest, they've made me slightly uneasy. Obviously we aren't going to die a few thousand feet above the ground, but it's an ironic reminder of what's about to come. I just really don't want to die,

Mother told me not to do it, and for once, I didn't listen. I've been caged up for so long, I just wanted to know if there were others like me. There weren't, but the experience has quenched my curious mind. The whole experiment of sorts has proven good and bad. I can still die. I might've seen what other teenagers my age were like and how they acted, but I still have to kill and fight. Everyone else has to die.

I really didn't think this through. The hovercraft begins to slow down, my stomach flipping again. It's all in my head. Yeah, it's all in my head. I'm my own worst enemy.

Light pours in and the ramp falls. One by one, the tributes are released by the attendant, but not before she shoots up the tracker into our arm. She reaches Cres and quickly injects him. His teeth clench and a small hiss escapes his lips.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, my mind panicking. I hope it doesn't do too much damage. I can't afford another damaged limb.

"Nah," he groans. "A little sore though."

My mind reels as she lowers the point to my flesh. I grit my teeth and walk, slowly, as it enters and the small beeping object flutters up my arm. Instantly, a pain washes over my body and I force myself to not scream. Cres sees the pain, though, his face suddenly in view.

"You okay man?"

No, no I'm not okay. I couldn't tell him, though. Weakness would be devoured here. "Fine," I lie, trying not to wince as the needle leaves my arm. "Just... preparing."

"Cool," he smirks, standing up. "Remember Lakyn's plan. Everyone in and grab what you can. Leave nothing behind and kill." he repeats her bloodthirsty words, just moments after my interview. Not that I could forget them. Lakyn told me again that night and this morning. According to her, I'm the one more than likely to wreck things by being reckless.

If only she knew how careful I have to be in order to not fall for the pain again. One damaged limb is enough.

* * *

**Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

The moment I'm led off the hovercraft, I take a deep breath of fresh air. Well, as fresh as the inside of a building can be. I take a quick look around at the concrete grey walls and flooring, face falling. From luxury to poverty in a second. I haven't experienced such a quick change since Daddy pulled us from poverty with his... shady business.

A Peacekeeper guides me with a hand on my shoulder, but I quickly shrug it off. "I'm not an invalid," I say calmly. "I can walk by myself without guidance."

We walk down the halls, following the crowd. I catch a glimpse of Ellery's dark hair and tanned skin further front. I tuck from the queue, sliding down quickly. The Peacekeepers react badly but they don't stop me from reaching her.

"Hey," I chirp, but Ellery's face is pale and taut. "Are you okay?"

"Okay is a bothersome word," she mumbles. "I'm not "okay" but I am feeling sick. I don't like heights."

"For someone who acts highly to not like heights is... ironic," I smirk, but Ellery isn't in the mood, her lips pressing into a line. "You could cheer up. I mean, we're not on the hovercraft anymore."

"Not the point," she brushes off as we stop, depositing two tributes on either side. "You can't control phobias, Caritta. They do tend to crop up when you are faced with them and even after."

"You're afraid of flying?"

"Of heights," she reiterates. "I am human. I do have fears and weaknesses."

"Could've fooled me," I tease, but again, she does nothing. We move forward slowly, losing two more. "Have you got a plan for the bloodbath?"

Another two more. "We run and engage in whatever we can," she confirms. "Find weapons and kill. It isn't rocket science." she rolls her eyes.

She's so cool. I admire her bitchy attitude because it proves she's better than everyone else, and I want that, need that. I want to be in the cool group, I suppose. Soon enough, Ellery is next. She looks at me with narrowed eyes before she's led into a room. The Peacekeeper grumbles, ushering me forward because I broke the rules. I pout, feeling his hand on my back. "My Daddy would've killed you by now." I mutter, the door opening.

I turn, his face obscured by his mask. "I'm sure someone will kill you soon enough. Then, Daddy won't have to worry."

The door closes. "Oh Caritta!" I hear Delorean chirps. I spin around and smile. "Oh darling, you look divine. I can't wait to get you into this number so you can show them all up. Particularly Angeline's tribute."

As Delorean brings about the packet of clothes and I take the seat, I frown. "Who is Angeline's tribute?"

"The District Seven boy," he mutters, pulling forth the odd clothing. Oh, Jericho Castillo. He's a major threat. "But you can take out the girl. I've heard from a little birdy that you two don't like each other."

"It's not that I don't like her. I just think she's a complete weirdo," I murmur. "But every great bitch has a bullied child under their fist. I guess she's mine."

"Lovely choice," he smiles, walking over with the outfit trapped in his clasped hands. I notice the black texture first, almost like lycra. "This is your outfit. All of it, sadly," he frowns. "It's lycra, if it wasn't obvious. Gosh, it's so hideous."

He hands it to me, the material sliding through my fingers. "What does that mean for the arena?"

"No idea," he smiles. "Doesn't exactly hold many secrets, does it? I would say indoors, obviously. Nothing too spectacular because normally, for that, they have outfits to reflect it. This is plain so I'm guessing the arena must be boring."

I stand up, pulling the outfit in front of me. My fingers experiment with the elasticity, stretching and pulling. It's quite a weird thing to make me wear. I mean, as Delorean said, it's rather ugly. "Shoes?" I ask, dropping the outfit to the floor with disgust.

"Oh, they are lovely," he drawls, handing me the black sneakers. I dig my thumb into the sole, something Daddy had taught me. It tells you how well they can let you run, and boy, I might need to run. "I presume you'll be doing a lot of moving. The thick sole is for that," he echoes my own thoughts. "Whilst the laces are no doubt for the added "style"." he quotes.

"That's all I can expect?" I reply. Something doesn't feel right. It's too plain; it's too mysterious.

"I suppose so," he shrugs. "But, don't worry, beautiful. I'm sure you'll excel with looks alone. I have faith in you."

* * *

**Andora Seville, District Two Female.**

* * *

I can't stop looking at the clock. Each time I look away, it nags me and I need to look back. It's not excitement but rather nerves. I am nervous. Who wouldn't be? Idiots. Proper Careers. I don't despise what I am - I willingly trained for it, after all - but I would never have volunteered on my own. I still hold all of the bitter blame on Evander, picking me out for not following his rules methodically.

"A-Andora, y-you should sit," Violet mutters. I look directly in her eyes, watching her shrink back. "I-I was just suggesting."

"I'm fine, Violet," I reply. "I just want to hurry this up. I don't like the unknown."

I really don't. I don't like not knowing what I'm going into. I could've prepared more - I could've talked to the others - but I guess it's too late. Oh well, I doubt I missed much. I got the gist of Lakyn's tyrannical reign that seems far too trivial and Cres' new submissive behaviour. I don't need to know much to know that we're going to fall and crumble, and fast.

Five more minutes.

"Do you h-have any plans?" Violet asks.

"I plan to try and win," I answer, as if it's the obvious thing in the world. I'm pretty sure everyone would answer with the same wish. "I plan to kill my allies in their sleep before running around the entire arena, berserk, murdering everything in sight. I plan to go down in history for having single-handedly taken twenty-three lives."

Her eyes are wide and timid. "R-R-Really?"

"Of course not," I roll my eyes. "Well, I don't know how to dispose of my allies, so that passage may or may not be true."

"What about C-Cres?"

"What about him?" I retaliate. I don't like this; I preferred the quiet, passive Violet that chose not to speak out of fear.

"Y-You can't... you can't hurt your own," she mumbles. "Partners should stick together."

"Yet there's only ever one winner."

She quickly falls silent. Good, I'd rather not speak. It's not that I don't like - well, I don't really - but it's pointless. When I return, Violet will only be around for the recaps and Victor Tour. Then, she'll fade into obscurity. Our budding friendship will have been pointless. And, just like every other relationship, she'll only end up either backstabbing me to further herself or disappoint me. I'd rather avoid both. I glance at the clock again.

One minute.

I count down the seconds in my head, walking slowly pass the tube. Maybe I can peak? No, that's stupid.

I'm scared, plain and simple. There, I admit it. Scared and nervous and antsy but I just want to know, I want to know so I can mentally prepare myself.

The clock buzzes. My whole body turns into gelatin as I motion forward, the tube opening up. I stand on the plate, looking at Violet as she turns blurry, the glass coming down. I carefully control my breathing as I begin to rise. I ascend into darkness, the sound of my heartbeat drumming throughout the small space. Then, swiftly, I'm pushed into the pure light.

I'm blinded for a moment, the amount of light literally burning my eyes. I'm outdoors? The light begins to fade and the arena becomes clear.

The golden Cornucopia shimmers defiantly, even brighter than I imagined. Everything seems so light. I crane my head around, seeing nothing but mirrors, multiplying the tributes. Twenty-four has turned into seventy-two. I push down the panic and focus on a mirror to the side of me, looking at my reflection. I look pale. I guess that's the nerves I won't admit to having.

So there's nothing but mirrors? We're in a circle. There's no way. A quick Hunger Games, huh?

But then, focusing, you can see a gap. It's hard to notice, but the light barely traces a dark shadow that reveals the entrance. It hits me then, as I find another one. It has to be the light, and if so, I've seen this before. It's a training trick at the Training Centre. A maze of mirrors, they call it.

Have fun getting lost whilst you literally watch your sanity break, is what Brick would laugh before he sent us all in, padded weapons armed.

It never happened to me. But, there's a first time for everything.

* * *

******Secrets by OneRepublic.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Who you want and think will die in the bloodbath?**_

_**Thoughts on what the arena could hold? Did you expect it? ;)**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Firstly, there's a poll on my profile! Just choose the five tributes that you really want to survive the bloodbath. I already have them picked out, but it'd be interesting to see if anyone guesses them.**

**Secondly, I just want to thank all of the submitters. I have loved these characters, but the deaths begin. Please don't take it personally if your tribute dies in the bloodbath... remember, as the author, I have to follow plots, who I write with ease and who I struggle with. No-one wants a story where it's bland and boring because I can't write for the tributes.**

**And... yeah. Interviews done (isn't Hermes a peach?) and the outfits are revealed. Nothing spectacular, because the arena holds everything: a maze of mirrors! Think of the ones you get at the carnivals without the special effects they have. My ones will have different effects, not body shifting ;)**


	8. Remain Nameless

**Remain Nameless.**

_All the broken chords and unnamed cries, what a place to come from._

* * *

**Lakyn Vale, District Four Female.**

* * *

_"Ladies and gentlemen, let the One Hundred and Twentieth Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

I can't stop admiring myself in the reflection as Gregor Flack's voice fades. Whilst all the other tributes are tense and worried, I'm fine. What's to worry about? Well, the bloodbath victims should worry. I don't need to because I'm not one of them; snivelling cowards destined to die. My eyes follow the mirrors around, finding the odd shaded area, where the arena must extend to. It's ironic, really, because everyone will witness their deaths and their glorious moments. They'll be able to see their eyes as their sword kills.

It's as if the arena was made for me. Cementing my glory at every turn.

_60...50..._

I take a deep breath and pry my eyes away. On one side is that boy from District Eleven, Corn or something, and the other side has the odd boy from District Eight. I guess neither of them are destined bloodbaths, but you can never be so sure. Anyone could die... anyone except us Careers, anyway. Actually, scratch that, Austal might die. I kind of hope he does, seeing as he's pretty much useless to this pack. I would've banished him ages ago, but after losing that traitor Lancel, we need the numbers.

_40..._

The clock above the Cornucopia flashes dangerously towards zero. A shriek pierces the air and most tributes turn, frightened. The little girl from District Nine has dropped that stupid doll... the explosives should go off any moment now, blowing her to bloody pieces...

But nothing comes. I frown, her posture frozen in place and tears streaming her cheeks. Why haven't they blown her up? Someone should test the plates, see if the explosives are nothing but a tense myth. Austal should... no-one will miss him when he dies. Cres, Gloria and even Andora, they're important. We make a great alliance, it's just Austal that has ruined our credibility. We'll need to sort that out after this is over.

_30...20...10..._

I crouch down, ready to run. I move the long ponytail to the other side of my head, eyes trained on a set of hunting knives, laid bare on the pebbled floor. They'll be perfect to throw. I catch a glimpse of Gloria's small stature, her eyes also locked on the same pack. No, Gloria, they are mine. She looks up, I smile, but she coldly looks away. She should treat me with more respect.

They should all treat me with more respect. I'm their leader, and a team is only as good as their leader. If I was to be awful, they wouldn't be as good as they are. My leadership has made them.

They need to remember that, otherwise it'll be the death of them in the future.

_0..._

And chaos erupts.

I leap from my plate and run forward, hearing the cries and pants ringing out. I head straight for the pack, when I notice a tribute nearing in on the same bit. If it's Gloria, I swear... but it's not. It's the girl from District Seven, Rotem. She slides down for the knives but I quickly counter, jutting out my sneaker. It lands on her wrist, pinning her, before a rough hand suddenly shoves me away. I stumble, eyes locking on the District Eleven boy. I growl, launching forward with my perfectly manicured nails at the ready. He moves back, she gets up, before another hand is suddenly grabbing my shoulder, flinging me into the hard skin of the Cornucopia.

Fire bursts through my veins and I stare Lancel down, his lips twitched into a smirk. "You'll pay for that." I hiss.

"I can, seeing as you're pretty cheap." he laughs, helping Rotem up, knives in her hands.

I go to launch forward again, but quickly realise I'm outnumbered. The three stands there for a brief moment, before Corn or whatever starts to grab some things.

"Cres!" I bellow. He better move right now, otherwise he'll pay.

Lancel's eyes widen and he spins around, ready to run. I chase after him, determined, before a scream causes me to falter. I spin before I hear the knife cutting the air. I throw myself to the floor as the blade cuts overhead, sinking into another victim who howls again. Craning my head, I watch the little girl from District Nine crumple, fingers outstretched for her doll on the floor.

My eyes snap up as Gloria slinks over, stepping pass me and plucking the bloody blade from her victim's chest. "Cres is busy," she directs. "You'll need to find him."

And, with that, Gloria runs. Humiliation floods my body as I kneel there. Lancel beat me, District Eleven beat me, Gloria had to come to my rescue... they'll all pay. I stand up, running straight for the mouth. I dig through the backpacks until a black one appears, looking suspicious. I rip it open as fast as I can, finding the vials of poison. Carefully, I pop the cap and pour the contents over a nearby throwing knife. If my blade won't kill them, my poisons will.

The sound of squeaking sneakers causes me to spin around. In a flash, the boy from District Nine is there, glassy-eyed and looking spaced-out. He doesn't even try to move, swaying on the spot for a few moments. Then, all of a sudden, his head is being cracked open by a large stick. He falls, revealing Cres. "Gloria told me to find you." he says calmly, though I can see a hand shaking.

"Yes," I smirk, standing up and pushing the vials into my pants pocket. "Let's get Lancel."

* * *

**Andora Seville, District Two Female.**

* * *

Lakyn and Cres walk away from the mouth of the Cornucopia, their postures defined. I sink deeper against the skin, watching outwards. Of course I heard Lakyn crying for someone, and of course I ignored her. She's not the boss of me. Chaos is abundant. They prepared us for this. I suppose I just never really understood it.

Cliff Harlaw runs, swinging wildly with his sword. Nearby, Austal is parrying with the boy from District Eight, whose pretty strong for someone with a weak score. Their blades clash, but Eight gains the upper hand, forcing himself forward until Austal staggers back.

I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was still at home, back where my life was carefully constructed. I have to win in order to get that back, but then what? I'm almost sure Evander will see to it that I'm punished.

"Andora!" Austal's eyes are suddenly on me. He's on the floor... when did he get there?

I move forward quickly, doing my duty. I don't want part of this alliance, but Austal has been outcast, and I feel for him... well, only slightly, and I'll never see him again after this. Still, I move through the mass, watching some tributes groping the mirrors, smearing them with dirty fingers and sweaty palms. Slowly, Austal rises, a deep cut curving along his cheek. "You're injured." I state calmly.

He runs his fingers up the cut, smearing the blood. "Oh," he mouths. "I think Lakyn is looking for you."

I nod. I knew that, but it seems Lakyn - almighty and fierce - has called for everyone's help, just because she got overwhelmed. Austal slightly grins before dodging past me, dashing back into the crowd. I spin around, barely seeing the oncoming slash. I jump back, heart leaping into my throat. The girl from District Eleven stands there, eyes fiery, a hatchet in one hand and a black backpack in the other. She could be running or she could be looking for a fight. Either way, I step back on the defense, switching my dadao into the other hand.

She leaps forward and swings. I dodge, bringing across my own blade. Somehow, I catch the hook of her backpack and pull, ripping it from her hands and onto the pebbled flooring.

"You'll pay for that," she hisses, throwing herself to the floor and swinging her hatchet towards my ankles. I jump back, before her fist comes flying up into my thigh. I wobble, giving her enough time to stand back up. "Here." she growls, before pebble dust is thrown into my eyes.

Pain blurs my vision and I hear her fleeting footsteps. I scrub frantically, stepping backwards to keep moving. One thing they taught me in the Training Centre was that being idle for too long, is as dangerous as a sword. It leaves you open and vulnerable.

But I step back too much, hitting something that squeals.

My eyes snap open as the little girl from District Ten cowers, clutching an open backpack to her chest. Her fearful eyes switch between my own and the weapon in my hand. Confliction crosses my mind; should I do it, or run? I never had any plans to kill other tributes, only the Careers, starting with Lakyn... she shuffles back, bottom lip quivering.

"Hey!" a rough hand shoves me to the side, causing me to trip on nearby objects. I spin around just before hitting the floor, watching the boy from District Eight - only moments fighting Austal - now helping his apparent ally up. "You leave her alone," his eyes are glassy but strong, a burning desire hidden beneath. You can tell, just by the way he's clutching onto the little girl far too tight. "You leave us alone."

"I wasn't even going to kill her." I say defiantly, standing up.

He moves the knife until it's level with me. "Sure, sure," he continues to babble. "Careers just don't kill," he pulls the girl closer. "Asya, have you seen Bryony or Rafe?"

She shakes her head. "N-No..."

With his eyes focused on her, I make my move, bringing down my dadao onto his knife. Metal rings out and his knife is ripped from his hands, droplets of blood hitting the washed floor. He practically throws the girl to the side in pain, her small body hitting the hard skin with a thud. I move forward swiftly, avoiding his punch and kick, before grabbing his wrist and twisting. He howls in pain again, jutting his leg out into my knee.

Oncoming footsteps make his eyes go wide. "Joshua!" the little girl screams and I spin around, watching Cres come with determined footsteps. He blindly swings his sword, just missing the target.

Another piercing scream rings out, causing confusion. District Eight wrenches his wrist from my grip, dropping to the floor and sending his elbow into Cres' groin. He buckles instantly. The boy gets back to his feet, sending a fist straight into my throat before his hand scoops up the knife, plunging it into my thigh. Pain swamps me and I, too, buckle with welling tears. Everything inside of me burns and boils, and through watery eyes, I notice the boy grabbing onto his ally and pulling her from the mass of torn backpacks.

I begin to crawl away, throat tightening. It's like I can't breathe, fire sweeping through my lungs... I head through the backpacks, heading for the comfort of the golden skin.

I was a better observer than fighter. At least, this way, I'll survive. I don't bother to look back at Cres, despite any heroic efforts he went through, and press myself against the cool metal. I wonder where the allies went? I wouldn't know. I crane my head, seeing a glimpse of Lakyn, pressed against the mirrors with her chest heaving. Our fearless leader isn't doing such a good job. According to Cres, we had no proper plan except fight and grab. Most years, they defend the Cornucopia or fan out. No. This year, we run around without heads. I grit my teeth, massaging the bruise I can feel forming.

Cres soon climbs up, face flushed red. He hobbles away without a second look. Somewhere, I hear another scream, a clash of metal, before the blur becomes too much. I keep the dadao in my lap, fighting against the oncoming darkness.

A flash of blonde is in the corner. I focus harder, seeing Gloria with a menacing knife on the edge of her fingers, ready to fly. Somewhere, Austal is fighting, and so is Cres now.

Me? I'd rather stay here. I didn't even want this, but Evander made things impossible to say no.

* * *

**Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.**

* * *

I snap my head around frantically, sliding along the mirrors.

"Bryony! Joshua! Asya!" I scream, the clusters of black and coloured hair making things impossible. The mirrors make matters worse, duplicating everything in sight, reflecting the golden shimmer and intensifying the light. It's almost blinding. I haven't got any weapons yet, the first thought being Asya and Bryony... I saw Asya, just plates away, but the shock of the District Nine girl clouded me for a moment.

Now, her corpse is laid out, bleeding on the pebbles. I pause, pressing deep against the mirrors. The cool material leans against my body, making me feel heavy. Where are they? I keep snapping my head, even more so desperate. Bryony should be easy to spot being white!

"Rafe!" Joshua appears through the crowd, a red-faced Asya hanging on his hand. "Rafe, have you seen Bryony?!" he shouts, frantic. I shake my head. "Look after Asya, I need... I need to find her!"

He spins around as I pull Asya closer, wrapping my arms around her protectively. She's like a little sister to me now. Joshua runs in again, when a flash of white causes him to stop. Bryony, pressed against the mirrors on the other side, blood pooling from her crumpled body. Everything slows down and I feel Asya finally tense in my arms, having seen the sight. My heart thumps, eyes glued to our fallen ally. Everything just plummets inside of me.

"Asya..." I mumble, hearing her contain a cry. But, Joshua runs. My eyes widen as Joshua dashes through the mass of tributes, everyone fighting, a desperate scream bursting from the cluster. I quickly let Asya go, pushing her against the mirrors. "Stay here," I smile sadly. "Just... stay here."

I let her go, spin around and run. I pump my arms and legs, heart still thumping. I feel guilty for leaving Asya, but even more for letting Joshua be so reckless... but it's his district partner, and in a sense, seeing Arietta die would break me into pieces.

I hear the swish before I see the knife, hurtling through the air, snagging Joshua's suit. He stumbles, shoulder slamming into the Cornucopia. The stumble gives me time to catch up, and as he tries to run, I grab onto his shoulder and spin him around. I quickly scan for the knife-thrower, pulling him to the floor. He struggles against my grip, but I clench harder.

"No man, no!" I shout, looking at his face, so broken and hurt. "No... she's dead." I whisper, my own voice breaking.

"She... she can't be..." his lips quiver.

I swallow thickly. "We need to save Asya," I say, and his eyes snap into alert. "She still needs us," but he struggles. "Joshua! Asya is alone. Bryony... it sucks, man, it really does. I'm... I'm so sorry..."

"She's not dead," he recites. "She can't be. Bryony can't be..."

A few tears cascade from his eyes. I look around frantically, but no tribute has bothered with us. The shadow from the Cornucopia provides us enough safety. And, frankly, I need Joshua to quickly recover. Asya still needs us, and with each second, my gut knots at the thought of leaving her alone, to brave something she shouldn't have to.

"Joshua, we have to go," I whisper. "We... we can mourn her later, with a song, maybe?"

Something ignites in Joshua and he stands, jaw clenched. I smile for the first time and stand with him. "We need backpacks," he nods, eyes strong. "Get what you can. I'll find Asya again."

But as he turns, I can tell his eyes linger on Bryony. I can't stop looking either. Her pale face turning purple, a red pool at her contorted body, sat on the floor. There's a gaping hole in her chest. I can only assume she died quickly... no, I need to hope she did. Joshua's body rises and falls, before he runs. He won't be over it, but we can't afford to dwindle here. I bend over and grab as much as I can, filling up my arms. With each added backpack, my heart weighs heavily. Could I have saved her? It's like Mother all over again. I could have done something, I could have saved them if I was more thoughtful and careful.

I shake my head and start to run, noticing Asya gone. My heart clenches and, for a moment, my arms go limp, backpacks ready to fall. Then I see her, dipped in the reflective wall, apparently where the rest of the arena lies. A smile spreads out on my lips and I break out into a run. When she sees me, she smiles sadly. I drop the backpacks to the floor at her feet and her smile turns into a more hopeful one.

"Rafe," she says quietly. "Bryony... is she..." but when I nod, her hopeful smile falls. "Oh, oh okay... where's Josh?"

I push Asya a little further down the apparent hallway, lined with mirrors on either side, until no-one can see us. "He's coming," I say, despite not knowing. He should've been here already, before me. All the bad thoughts that cross my mind are suddenly erased when I see him, head snapping from side-to-side. "Josh!" I call. He sees us and runs, face dotted red. "Josh?"

"I had to," he admits, breathing heavily. "I had to... I had to see if she was... if she was dead. I couldn't leave her knowing she might be alive."

"I get it. I really do," I reply, pulling Josh into a brief hug. "But you still have me and Asya. And, right now, we need to get out of here with what we got," I gesture to the backpacks, bending over to hand him one. "We can't take them all, so, two each. Come on." I offer a comforting smile, because really, that's all I can do. There's nothing else I can do, even if I desperately wanted to.

We lost Bryony, and no-one is going to know how or why.

We move down the hallway quickly, leaving the bloodbath behind, leaving Bryony behind. I try to smile again; we can do this together.

* * *

**Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.**

* * *

I crawl through the sprawled backpacks, pulling them through. If I've learned anything, it's that the better items are hidden deep inside. And, better items means a better chance, if you know how to work them, that is. My laser would be hidden in here, I just know it.

Every now and then, I look over my shoulder, just to make sure no-one is coming. The Careers are falling fast. Each time I spot them, they're kneeling or against the wall like cowards. For someone so mighty, they aren't that threatening.

I dig deeper, pulling a black backpack forward. I unzip, scavenge, before discarding it. Damn, I need it and quick. I pull another forward and frantically rip the insides clean, still having no luck. After about five backpacks, I finally find the small metal device, hidden at the bottom underneath a pack of dried raisins. I can't stop smiling as I pull it out, and tuck it into the deep pocket of the jumpsuit.

I begin to go out of the mouth backwards, careful not to be seen. Being dressed in black with black backpacks is good camouflage, but at the same time, I can clearly see the disadvantage. Black against a mirror... it stands out. That's the point, of course, to make us stand out and be seen. We're not meant to hide, we're meant to fight. Seeing the District Nine boy, I try not to gag. With his head smashed in, you can tell it had to be a large tribute. I better watch out for whoever that could've been.

Despite feeling guilty, I crawl around the fallen body, keeping to the perimeter. At the end of the day, another one dead is better for me, no matter how immoral it should be. When someone comes too closer, I flinch, heart leaping to my throat. I'd be lying if I wasn't scared... not everyone can handle this well. I've never done that good under pressure, and this, this pressure is beyond what the small shop I used to work in provided.

"Gloria!" a voice shrills. I flinch again, throwing myself against the golden skin. My shoulder throbs in pain, but I bite down on my lip to keep quiet. "Gloria, where are you?" she shouts, obviously not worried about being attacked. She sounds confident... confidence will be the end of her.

I keep moving, eyes locked on the shadowed hallway ahead. If I could get there, I could run and be lost, away from all this.

Reaching the tail, I take a deep breath. This is it. I've been hidden for so long now, I have to be open. I stand and run.

I don't see the bounding blonde hair until too late.

I slam into the other person, producing a scream. The backpack that was neatly tucked underneath my arm skids away, just as I hit the floor. Everything rushes at me and I have to control my breathing, scared to turn around. I begin to crawl slowly towards my objects, when I hear the movement.

I spin over and kick out before my mind can register anything. The District Twelve girl is soon in my vision, before my foot connects to her knee and sends her sprawling. She lands, my stomach knotting in guilt.

"I'm s-s-" I soon stop myself as the girl - Lucia, I believe - pulls out a knife, hand shaking violently.

My mind churns frantically. I briefly look for my backpack. I'm almost sure there's a knife in there. I keep my eyes locked on her, feeling my heart pulsate in my throat. Lucia looks scared too, her body shaking and clearly against her actions. I slow pull myself up onto my feet, making sure to keep the distance. "Sorry for running into you," I say slowly, my eyes swiftly ghosting over my backpack. If I could get it back... "We could just split."

But, without responding, she jabs forward, eyes wild and fearful. I jump back, the blade skimming the air where my stomach was. When she takes the next hit, I move to the side, attempting to grapple her. I grab her wrist but she pulls back too fast, bringing her other hand forward to try and punch me back. I catch the clenched fist and twist, hearing her scream. The knife falls from her other hand and clatters to the ground.

"We don't have to do this," I mutter, but it's too late. She launches forward and I dive for the floor. I grab the knife and, as she looms over me, I plunge it into her chest.

For a moment, I stay there, underneath her, knife still deep in her body. I can't move; I can't think. Every fibre in my body is telling me to run, yet I want - no, need - to stay here and witness it, witness the first break into my morals. I gently pull the knife out as she falls to the side, blood cascading onto the whiteness below. She isn't dead straightaway and I guess that's why I can't pull my horrified eyes away, watching her slowly die at something I did. Something that I, Ampry Erfinder, physically done.

I throw the knife before I can think, feeling tainted and ugly. I stand hastily, rushing to grab my backpack and then sprinting into the hallway nearby, leaving her behind. I have to fight back the urge to cry or scream.

Further down, over my own heartbeat in my ears, I hear a loud shout, no doubt her ally. It hits me as hard as the death, the pain in their voice ripping through my body. I have to stop somewhere down, the shakiness making me sway. When I look up, I see nothing but mirrors reflecting my image. Stunned, I look around, mirrors covering the walls and even the ceiling. Everywhere I look, it's me, just me, staring back and showing my reflect. It's like a sick twist in watching yourself break.

I pull the backpack over my shoulder and slow my chest down. I can't dwell... I'll never forget her face, but I can't let it overpower me. I need... I need to keep moving.

Slowly, I walk down the hall, turning every now and then, keeping my eyes on the mirrors. The only bonus is that I'll see the oncoming tribute before it's too late. Downside is the same; they'll see me, which cancels out any hopes of stealth.

I soon pull myself to a stop and look through the backpack properly. I find the knife I was looking for, disgusted by the silver blade. I was so desperate to kill, that I was willing to throw my morals away. No, not kill, but defend. It was defense. I have to reassure myself that. But, when I fumble for the laser in my pocket, I smile. I have my advantage now.

I'm still in this game. Everyone has strength, whilst I have my brain. Which would be stronger?

But brains didn't kill Lucia.

I shake my head, zipping the backpack up and swinging it over my shoulder. The Games begin and I can only hope the slippery slope hasn't begun for me.

* * *

**Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

"Thorn!" Lancel beckons. I turn around, almost ready to attack. "Whoa, thanks for that," he grins. "Go on then, tell me how you're doing."

For now, we've dipped into the hallway. Rotem is out there somewhere, but we trust her. Compared to most, Rotem can probably handle herself well. I've seen her; she's a tough girl, albeit a little quiet and withdrawn. The more and more I think about it, the more and more it doesn't make sense that Rotem has joined me and Lancel, both... competitive, to say the least.

"Nah, you're cool," I play back with a smirk. "Surprised you got away from Lakyn. She looks pretty pissed."

"She always looks pretty pissed," he counters. "Eh, I can handle her. She's nothing important. I, however, wanted to know about you."

I glance over his shoulder, just to make sure no-one is coming for us. I still want to protect Lancel as well as beat him at everything he does. He aggravates me and, yet, I could probably see us being best friends outside of this. He'd have to come to District Eleven, though, because I couldn't deal with the judgement in District One. There's a clatter of metal and slam, causing Lancel to freak out and almost jump into my lap. I have to hide the smirk as we peer out, pressed against the wall.

it's the District Twelve boy, on the floor and staring forward with horrified eyes.

"What is it?" Lancel whispers, trying to knock my head out of the way. I push back, feeling my heart palpitate slightly. I follow his gaze, seeing his district partner dead on the floor. If it was Caritta, as harsh as it would sound, I wouldn't care. We're not close in the slightest. But, for him, I guess it's a big deal. "Well? Who is it, man?"

"His district partner." I mumble back.

"Oh, I knew that," he replies. "Yeah, I guess it's sad."

Suddenly, though, Lancel sprints pass me and outwards. My eyes bug out. I'm torn between running after him - just because I know he'll use it against me later, to prove he's more reckless or impulsive - and staying behind, waiting for Rotem like the actual plan was. Lancel soon blurs into the mass. The District Twelve boy looks up, his eyes glassy as he stares at me. He begins to scream and howl, shaking so violently he might combust. He's stepping backwards, fearful, eyes bugging out and skin turning a nipped red. I shake my head hastily, sinking backwards. My heart starts to thump harder and harder. I won't hurt him, not after that happened to him.

But other people will.

With his eyes focused on me, he doesn't see the boy from District Four running forward, a spear locked in his fingers. He doesn't even notice the metal arrowhead lined to enter his back, until finally, his scream erupts into the air as the tip pokes out from the other side. The acid hits the back of my throat and makes me gag, as the District Four boy rips it out once more. His eyes lock with mine and time slows down.

I turn around and run before I can think. I hear him chasing me, his footsteps bounding off of the mirrors. The spear is released from his hand, carving the air. I throw myself against the side, just as the arrow enters my shoulder blade. I howl in pain and rip it out, but not before stumbling. It gives him the time to grab my shoulder and wrench me to the side. I slam into the mirror, shoulder throbbing from the impact and locking a scream under my tongue. I can feel the blood soaking against the jumpsuit.

He punches, but I quickly dodge, his knuckles cracking into the glass. He knees me into the side as I fight to push him away from me.

Of course, Lancel chose the perfect time to run.

We grapple, until I manage to knock him away. I notice my backpack on the floor and launch for it, desperate for the small carving knife inside. It might not kill, but I can shoo him away with it. As my hands wrap around the fabric, his sneaker comes down in a swift stamp. It catches my wrist, sending another wave of pain through my entire body and causing my eyes to water. I quickly pinch his skin, causing a yelp and enough distraction to pull the backpack up, knocking his foot off my wrist.

I spin around and slam the backpack into his face. I hastily unzip the backpack, hands and fingers shaking from the anticipation and fear.

"Hey!" Lancel's voice booms. I turn, seeing him running towards us.

The Career turns as I slam myself against the wall. Lancel comes running, a blade in hand, and that's enough to scare the guy away. He slows down, panting heavily.

"Dude, you should've called out," he says calmly and with a smile, whereas I could've died. I try and slow down my breathing, surprised at how much my insides churn. I never knew I could be so scared. I can be reckless and risky to try and beat someone, but this, this has shaken me to the core. Lancel looks at me, eyebrows knitted. "Are you okay man?"

"Fine," I try and flatten out my words. "Have you... have you seen Rotem?"

Just then, her bobbing, dark hair comes running towards us. Her cheek is slightly bruised, the arm of her jumpsuit cut open. "What are you looking at?" she says when she's near. "Are we ready to go, or did you guys want to do something else?"

It should sound sarcastic, but it actually sounds like a genuine question. "We should go," I quickly add, before Lancel comes up with any bright ideas. "The bloodbath is slowing down. Now is the perfect time to escape before the Careers begin their hunt, or even worse."

We swiftly gather our items, Lancel even taking the forgotten spear with excited eyes. Rotem doesn't look as worried as she should, what with a growing bruise and cut. I guess the adrenaline must mask it. When I grab my backpack, my hand is shaking so violently, it's hard to hide it. As we walk, I shove my hand into the pocket and keep it there, out of Lancel's view. He'd only mock me for being weaker than him.

But, the truth is, if this continues to happen, I am. Briar was right; I'll always be little Thorn, weak and puny and timid, shared of the entire world.

* * *

**Jericho Castillo, District Seven Male.**

* * *

I won't let her go. I can't, I won't.

"Jericho?" I turn to Arietta's voice, shaky and timid. "Does that mean the bloodbath is over now?"

We got out of there fast. I told her to hide, to stay away from the area so that she wouldn't get hurt. When everyone ran forward, she ran backwards, hiding in the little hallways. I got what I needed and got out, all without being injured. I would be proud of myself, but can I be happy that I managed to not die by a knife? It would only be a scared child or a brutal Career. Either one and I avoided them all. The thing is, though, I know the bloodbath isn't over. The cannons haven't sounded, which means the Capitol probably want more bloodshed before then. Small bloodbaths need to be altered.

"Yeah," I lie, missing Arietta's serenity already. "Well, no. The cannons will tell us."

"I guess we were lucky," she mumbles, pushing strands of hair from her eyes. Unlike the other girls, Arietta isn't wearing a ponytail or braid. It's probably more reckless, but I guess it's something personal to her. "How many... how many died?"

I swallow thickly. "Five," I nod. "I saw District Nine fall, and the District Eight girl slumped against the wall. No-one missed the District Twelve boy go down dramatically either."

"And Lucia," she adds. "I saw her bleeding out. I think, I think that's why Micah acted the way he did."

Arietta knows their names? That's something new. Not many tributes decide to learn the victims by actual name. Another perk to Arietta that makes me smile. "Yeah, I guess so. That makes five then."

"It's sad," she frowns. "I didn't want to see any of that."

"I wish you didn't."

For some reason, the conversation doesn't feel right. Arietta is too sweet, and I don't like this, I don't like talking about the dead. I might like extremes, but death is not something that should be celebrated nor talked so easily. I pull the backpack into my lap, laying the tomahawk by my side.

"What did you get?" she whispers.

"Some food and bandages, medical supplies, just the usual." I mumble, sorting through the stuff.

Behind her, the mirrors shimmer. I can see her, myself, the images constantly doubled. With the same pebbled flooring, and mirrors everywhere you can see, I think it's a maze. I remember, as a kid, seeing one of these but made of hedges. District Seven had it on for their annual harvest, something for the children. I hated it, being lost and never knowing how to get out... I might never leave here, and if I die, I'll die in one of the few things I dislike.

Not only that, but every noise echoes and every light shines brighter. An arena where everything is magnified. It'd drive people insane, but I'm guessing that's the point. I slowly stand, offering my hand to Arietta to help her up.

"We need to keep moving. If we stop, we might be caught." I say with a soft smile, fingers buzzing with life in Arietta's palm. There's just something about her.

But as if my words do something, voices ring out. My heart freezes and the urge to pull Arietta closer grows. I snap my head around, fingers curling for the tomahawk. For some reason, deep in my mind, I don't have a problem with killing someone... if it means saving myself and Arietta, that is. I don't even want to think about the finale or when one of us dies... Arietta's eyes grow wide as she steps closer, footsteps booming and rattling along the pebbles.

Before I can do anything, the mirror at the end becomes clouded by dark hair. "I found one!" she blasts.

"Lakyn," Arietta mumbles, before the knife slides into the Career's hand and out through her fingers. "Duck!"

I throw myself to the floor, pulling Arietta with me. The knife whizzes overhead as I grab hold of the tomahawk, pushing myself back upwards. Lakyn, apparently, comes running with her ponytail swishing. Another knife is drawn and thrown, which I manage to deflect with the handle of my own weapon. She's suddenly in front of me, grabbing my weapon and pulling it forward.

"Arietta, run!" I scream, pulling back, surprised at the girl's strength. From over her shoulder, I see two girls, both blonde, District One and Two. They don't run, just simply stare. "Arietta now!"

I hear Arietta scuffle as Lakyn kicks, growling through clenched teeth. The blow jogs my balance, giving her enough time to pull back and reveal sharp nails, which she slashes forward with, like a feline. I pull back, but the tips rip across my cheek, pain burning through my face. Adrenaline kicks in and, coupled with the fear for Arietta, I manage to get back enough strength to thrust forward, catching her off-guard.

She stumbles and I wretch my tomahawk from her prying hands. With a violent swing, I catch the sharp weapon into her neck and push through, bringing her whole body into the mirrors with a sickening shatter. Blood sprays out, and from behind, I hear Arietta shriek. Yet, it doesn't faze me. Everything looks so morbidly impressive. My eyes snap up, the Careers looking on with baffled expressions, yet still make no movement forward. They let one of them die, but I guess that's the way. I pull the blade from her neck, feeling acid spray the back of my throat.

Her body crumples, smearing down the mirror. I don't even realise I'm shaking until I step back, wanting to flee. I give the Careers one look before I turn around and sprint, mind whirling. I catch Arietta by the wrist. "Come on!"

I drag her through the hallway, fearful that they're following us. No, no, they won't hurt us, they won't find us. All the time, Arietta whimpers, following but I can feel how hesitant she really is. I killed in front of her, something I really didn't want to do.

When we reach the end and emerge in the Cornucopia room where the blood stains the ground, Arietta rips herself from my grip and openly cries.

I stand there, awkward, wanting to hug her but knowing I'm the cause. Every fibre in my body twists and turns in guilt, swallowing me whole.

I don't feel bad about the killing. I feel bad about making Arietta cry.

And, from here, it can only get worse.

* * *

******Remain Nameless by Florence + The Machine.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

******Lyra Chambray, District Nine.**

******Stefan Rui, District Nine.**

******Bryony Dubois, District Eight.**

******Lucia Bailen, District Twelve.**

******Micah Amaro, District Twelve.**

******Lakyn Vale, District Four.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Immy, Swordy, Rosy, arkanians, Pika and Ace, I'm sorry. These were either the likely choice, most realistic, or simply because I struggled to write them. I hope you guys understand!**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**POV that stood out the most?**_

_**Death that stood out the most, for whatever reason?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Wow. Two weeks? Sorry for that... I struggled to write this. Anyone who knows me knows that I loathe bloodbaths as much as reapings.**

**I don't know what to think of this one. I'm not entirely happy, but the wait has been too long. I don't know whether I captured a good balance of eternal thought, conflict and action. Oh, and emotion. Damn.**

**Yeah, hopefully the next one is soon!**


	9. Came Back Haunted

**Came Back Haunted.**

_The smile is red, and it's eyes are black._

* * *

**Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.**

* * *

Rafe pulls us into a box room, the mirrors more spaced and providing more room. Asya is at his side, tear-stained cheeks bright and clear.

"We'll rest up here," he says cheerfully. Unlike him, I knew Bryony more personally. Her death wouldn't affect him as much as me, I think bitterly. He guides Asya onto the floor, dropping his backpack. "We should see what we have, see if anything is... musical," he adds with a sad smile, bending to unzip the first one. "I have a pan That could work well. What ab-"

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

His words are toppled over by the sound of six cannons, signalling the bloodbaths. With each sound, my heart clenches. Bryony is one of those. To the Capitol, she's simply a contender out of the game, another noise to project into the arena for the other tributes lucky enough to survive. I should've saved her, I should've gone to her no matter what... I failed her.

"Do we know all of the deaths?" Rafe asks. I was suppose to be the leader of this group, but I guess Rafe can see I'm not in it anymore. Sadness might never be replaced and, if so, Rafe needs to ensure Asya will be safe. "I only..." he cuts himself off, face twisting into guilt. "And the District Nine pair, naturally. Everyone else is a mystery."

"A mystery about to be solved," I say bitterly, walking over to the mirrors. I can't cry for her because they'll be watching. They'll use it against me, question and pry into a friendship that should've been kept secret. After everything Bryony went through, revealing her scars to the whole of Panem, to be cruelly bloodbathed. I turn around, looking Rafe dead in the eye. "I don't know why we didn't find her first. She was too innocent for this."

"Look, man, it was an accident," he defends. How can he defend murder as an accident? "I'm sure that..."

"Sure that what?" I grow increasingly angry. "Bryony should never have died, end of discussion."

He doesn't respond. From the corner of my eye, I see Asya tense, knees tucked under her chin. She doesn't say anything either.

As Rafe continues to pull out items for Bryony's wake of sorts, and Asya continues to stare ahead with glassy eyes, I focus in on the mirrors. What's their game? What do they want? The mirrors seem pointless, just reflective surfaces. But it's the Capitol, and if they can kill a girl whose been through so much already, then they can alter the most simplest of household objects.

I'm caught off-guard when the anthem suddenly blares. Rafe looks up, eyebrows knitted. "What the hell?"

All three of us look towards the ceiling, only to see a mirror planted up there. So where are the faces going to be projected? Anger floods my veins; I want to see Bryony one more time, her face clean and white, not marred by the blood or turning blue from the lack of a beating heart. I snap my head around until the mirrors all around us begin to cloud, as if fog is rolling over them. Asya stands up, freaked out and backing towards Rafe's sudden open arms, enveloped in his caring nature.

For some reason, it bugs me. Rafe and Asya are close. Me and Bryony, we were like that, before they stole her away. Well, before someone did; I'll more than likely never see who killed her. It could be for the better, but revenge would be sweeter.

The clouded mirror soon turns into a picture, black swirls and stripes painting a clear sight of an image. It's the District Nine girl. Despite all the black making a charcoal-like picture, you can make out their appearances. My eyes widen and the falx in my hand suddenly goes limp by my side. The tendrils move and swish, like a puppet on strings, playing out the scene of her murder. It's cartoon-like, a large knife landing into her small body despite the obvious difference in size. Her district partner has a smack into the back of his head, and the picture shows the back of his dark hair, skull opening like a crater in the ground.

"It's not real," Rafe suddenly speaks as the image zooms in on the gap, patterns underneath probably representing the brain. "It's all been... dramatised."

"It's entertainment." I mutter, as I see Bryony, signature white skin highlighted.

I step forward, heart thumping. I can see who will kill her, who will make that deadly move. The scene shows her running, skipping and hopping like a rabbit, before she's confronted by a figure I can't quite work out. Whoever it is, they run forward, pushing a large blade into her stomach and running with her impaled on it, until she's slammed against the mirror. I hear Asya whimper, but can't tear my eyes away. I step closer and closer to the mirror, fingers aching to touch the show.

The murderer turns around, revealing dark skin and dark hair. District Eleven, Caritta. From the corner of the screen, a tiny figure emerges.

It's Asya.

I spin around, eyes flared. "You were with her?!"

Asya tenses, and Rafe's grip becomes more secure around her smaller body. I remember losing her after fighting away the Careers, and then trying to find her. But wasn't she waiting in the hallway, like she was told? She was there when I met up with Rafe. The whole incident is a blur. But, the mirror says Asya was there, and the anger bubbles inside. "Hey," Rafe counters. "It's not like she killed her."

The anger inside of me makes me shake, like I'm vibrating. "You could've saved her!" I almost scream.

"No she couldn't," Rafe growls, moving Asya - still locked in his arms - to the side. "You need to relax. Asya didn't kill her, and she couldn't of done anything. You saw the image, the girl moved so fast that Bryony didn't even see until it was too late."

I guess Rafe is right. I can't expect Asya to save her, not when Asya is but a child herself. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "I suppose," I mutter. "I'm sorry, Asya."

The mirror behinds her reflects the Career from District Four being almost decapitated, a small but grinning head sat on top of a large tomahawk.

If we're going to forever see the deaths, manipulation won't work here. You'd be able to trust someone and know it. I guess... I guess that means Rafe and Asya have always been decent, and here I am, threatening Asya for doing something out of her power, judging Rafe for not caring as much as I do, when I knew Bryony much more personally.

"I'm sorry." I say again, but they'll never believe me. I turn around, still seeing the girl's image on the mirror. I'll make her pay.

But, in my mind, I say goodbye to Bryony, laying down black roses on her body, a gentle hum in the background. Goodbye, Bry, I'll never forget you. I'll get your revenge.

* * *

**Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.**

* * *

Lakyn's shadowed head bounces on the floor, still grinning. It's morbid, but that's the point. Everything has been thrown out of whack, more dramatic and a lot less realistic. I doubt Lakyn would've smiled when she died, even if I didn't see it happen. Maybe it's like a caricature? It'd make sense, a subtle mocking of when we all fall eventually.

No-one is looking anymore as we continue to walk down the hallway, Gloria up front like some rabid animal, knives in her hands.

"Has anyone seen Austal?" I ask when we finally stop. No-one has bothered to ask him, even though we know he hasn't died.

Andora drops, face slightly white as she shuffles a backpack into her lap. Despite an obvious flesh wound, she's taking the hit harder than I thought. "No," she mumbles. "Have you?" she adds with a sarcastic tone.

"Not since he chased off after Lancel's ally," I mutter, leaning against the mirror. I glance as Gloria begins to pace around, eyes snapping at every sight. She looks paranoid; but it could simply be the fact that we're surrounded by our own images; that would drive anyone mad. "Gloria?"

"What?" she turns, face hardened.

"Are you okay?" I ask. With our leader now dead, someone has to take charge. I don't want the position, but it's not like Gloria or Andora is jumping for the power.

It takes a moment before she responds. "Fine," she grumbles. "Are you going to hurry up?"

I look down at Andora, who looks up with a glower. "Does it look like I can go any faster? I was stabbed."

She is the only one injured. Well, from what we can tell, anyway. Without Austal and Lakyn, and with Lancel never joining us, the Career pack has already been dwindled down to just three current members, four if Austal returns to us alive, if at all. I hope he does. I like the little guy a lot more compared to the girls; I've always wanted a younger brother, and Austal is that, even if he treats me kind of bad.

"We need to keep moving," Gloria says, still pacing like some caged animal. "I don't like this. Staying still means staying open."

"We need to let Andora bandage up her wound first." I say, voicing Andora's obvious infliction. She can't walk much more, otherwise it'll rip open and be more vulnerable to infection. I learned that much from all the beatings.

Gloria doesn't look impressed but doesn't answer. In all honesty, I don't see why we're together at all. Lakyn brought us together and, I guess, we felt obliged under tradition. But really, without Lakyn being a forceful glue, they could leave. Gloria and Andora were the members more than likely to abandon or walk during the bloodbath, without Lakyn's notice. They could just leave. So, why aren't they? Something is keeping them here. Maybe they think they can't do it without staying in the alliance, or maybe they feel compelled to stay.

With each passing minute, it looks as if Austal has gone, now probably having witnessed Lakyn's demise. Will he miss her? She was always openly rude to him, treating him like he was nothing because he was younger when, in reality, him and Gloria are the same age. I bet it was an excuse just to make him feel crap about himself. Yeah, can't say that I miss Lakyn too much.

I turn and lean against the cool material, hearing Andora hiss, and Gloria still pacing. My head throbs, skull feeling tight. I don't know what's about to happen, but I can practically feel the tension. It's suffocating and heavy, expectations demanding. We are Careers, and we're not to die this early. If it was me, my Father would've flipped the entire house upside down in anger and disappointment.

"Cres..."

"What?" I turn around, frowning.

"No-one said anything," Gloria looks confused. "Think you're hearing things, you know."

This is the most Gloria's ever talked, and it's been nothing but slightly hostile. Maybe it's paranoia or something, or maybe seeing Lakyn's death has really shaken her. Wait, I doubt that, considering I'm sure her knife was aiming for Lakyn in the first place, before sinking into the little girl. "No," I say clearly. "I heard my name."

"Wasn't us." she defends herself, and when I look down at Andora, she nods curtly.

I frown even harder. Who said it? I definitely heard it, loud and clear. The voice was familiar too. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know the voice has said my name before. Then again, me, Gloria and Andora don't talk that often. They've probably never even said my name aloud before.

Just then, another bounding noise joins. I spin at the urgency, raising my blade. Gloria is quick, lining her knife up in one direction, whilst I watch the other. The footsteps get louder and louder, until I see Austal's bobbing head running towards us. I sigh, suddenly smiling.

"Hey," he breathes, panting hard. "Sorry."

Gloria looks him over once, knife still poised, before turning around and continue her impatient wait. Andora doesn't even look at him.

"Don't be sorry," I smile sweetly when he looks at me. His face tightens and he nods, turning my smile into a frown. "How did you find us, though?" I question.

"Mirrors," he replies, pointing to one in particular. At first I turn, thinking it was mine and it was Austal saying something, but no. He points further down at a mirror that looks just like the rest, nothing physically different. Maybe they're all different? "From the other side, you can see through. I saw Gloria walking around. So, I just followed the hall around and it came out here."

I nod, drinking it in. Another Gamemaker trick. But, it doesn't explain on who said my name. "I'm sorry about Lakyn," I shrug, feeling like it's necessary. He might not have even liked her, but it feels appropriate, to apologise for his district partner's demise. He just shrugs as well, not really fazed. "When Andora has been patched up, we'll head off."

And even though he just nods and steps aside, barely taking my warm welcome, I know that with him here, it'll be easy. Gloria and Andora won't talk, and Austal can help make things easy. I need this alliance to work. I need to stick to tradition, to please him, because if I go home and didn't do it properly, I'll never live it down... quite literally.

* * *

**Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.**

* * *

"So I guess we got lucky," Kristopher smiles, handing me the protein bar. I instantly notice the bite he took from it. "Oh yeah, sorry, I got hungry."

"That's disgusting," I frown, but take a bite anyway. It's not that it's a problem, it's just gross. I can't be too fussy or picky though. I swallow, glancing around at the mirrors. "I'm surprised they've even let us live this long. We haven't done anything, not even in the bloodbath."

Kris scoffs. "That's where you're wrong, buddy."

I frown, looking at him harder. "What do you mean, I'm wrong? I was with you. We didn't do anything worthwhile, not that I'm complaining. As far as I know, we have no targets on our back because of it."

"Technically we don't. But, I might've done something with a backpack or two," he pauses, looking at me with devilish eyes. "Nothing major... but a food samples of food are now poisoned."

My eyes widen. "What? How did you manage that?"

"I bent down... and poured the poisons onto the food?" he then laughs loud, booming against the fragile mirrors. "Nah, seriously, it was easy. I just grabbed a few bags, ran with them and hid as I done it, before putting them back. I don't know who has them, but at least we haven't got to worry about witnessing it. Someone will die and we'll be alright, you know." he finishes with a proud smile.

I don't know how I feel about that. I swallow thickly, looking away. I guess it was Kris' decision after all - and he'd probably call me lazy or something if I call him out on being merciless, which would annoy me - so I keep quiet. It would benefit the pair of us, but still... I don't know. Something about his pride over it makes my stomach uneasy.

Silence overpowers it all. At some point, Kris stands, walking across the hall. He runs his fingers gently over the mirror.

"Do you think these are a trap, you know, what with them showing us the deceased, rather than pictures in the sky or whatever," he says, but before I can answer, he clicks his tongue. "I guess you wouldn't know. I mean, if you think about it, these are the perfect tools to use their tricks on. I could easily imagine something like a tribute popping through, or maybe even the other side being visible."

"Yeah, and how would you know that?" I challenge him. I never knew Kris was this smart. He always seemed average, in a sense, with extra sarcasm and pride.

He shrugs. Through the reflection, you can see his eyes darken. "You should never trust anything in here. Even the food could've been poisoned."

"Rather rich coming from you," I quickly say, hiding a smirk. It's true; you shouldn't trust someone, and Kris has made that clear. Attacks are still possible, whether you see them happen or not. He turns around, a playful smile on his face. "What?" I deadpan. I have a bad feeling about this.

"What about we test it out?" he smirks. "We could try and prove the theories we have," he bends over, rummaging through his backpack. He soon produces a wicked knife, curved blade and serrated teeth. When did he get that? Shows that Kris is full of surprises. He turns again, pointing the mirror at his reflection. "If I stab it, we might get some sort of backlash."

My eyes widen. "Why would you do something as stupid as that?"

"It's helpful knowledge," he says calmly, but his lips are still peeled open happily. "We can learn to use it to our advantage in the future."

"That doesn't make sense." I frown, my stomach doing somersault after somersault.

"Life sometimes doesn't make sense," he argues. "But to find out the mysteries, you need to investigate."

I watch with wide eyes as he stabs the mirror with his knife. The blade bounces straight back - but with much force - and knocks Kris off of his feet. He lands by my lap, grunting at the impact. Again, I have to try and hide my smirk.

"That wasn't very successful," I look at him, but instead of embarrassment, I see those light eyes. I'm starting to think that Kris has gone off the rocker or something. "You're proud of that?"

"Of course," he says as he brushes himself off. "I now know that impact is much greater," he steps forward, leaning in to inspect the damage. "And yet, there are no marks."

"But you hit that pretty hard." I frown again. My stomach slowly dies down, leaving me just unsettled. All of these emotions are draining me more and more.

"I know," he laughs. "And not a single scratch or dent. Whatever this mirror is made of, it's strong. But see Wayne... we now know that, if we are attacked, we can push their weapons into the mirror and they'll be blown off of their feet, like jumping jacks."

I swallow again. "I don't think jumping jacks bounce that hard. And, besides, I'm not grabbing any weapons."

"But that's only because you're lazy," he smirks. The anger boils under my skin and the feeling of unsettlement is quickly replaced by fire. I hate it when he does that, when he pokes fun at the one thing I don't like. Sure, I'm lazy, no need to go around and tell the whole of Panem. "It's just precautionary. I'd rather be prepared than sorry."

"I think I prefer safe than sorry," I grind my teeth together, feeling the protein bar squish in my hands. "Precautionary sounds like you're looking for trouble."

"They did always say I was a bad boy," he laughs again, coming back to sit down. "Hey, my protein bar," he frowns, looking down at my fist. "You can let it go now, I think you've shown him who is boss."

I open my fingers and drop the bar to the floor, in a big, goopy mess. "You can have it," I mumble, standing up. "I'm going to walk on ahead. Gotta keep moving and that." I use as an excuse, walking away before Kris can do squat. The more and more time I spend with Kris, the more and more I regret accepting his offer for an alliance.

* * *

**Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

We walk with ease down the halls. For some reason, Ellery isn't fearful about what's around the corners. She seems... oddly comfortable, leading me into whatever damn mess she wants to head into. It's her fault that I went into that bloodbath. Daddy's advice was ringing in my head, but her glaring eyes only a few platforms away overpowered him. I went in and fought because of her, because I wanted to make her proud in a twisted sense.

"This way," Ellery says, walking ahead. I hastily follow, eyes in awe at how the hallway has led into some strange room, more spaced. Ellery walks forward, head tilted towards the ceiling. "The mirrors are still up there. By their shape, I think the room is a hexagon."

But something in my stomach flips. Something seems dangerous about a room with such an easy entrance. "Ellery, we shou-"

My voice is overpowered by the sound of sliding glass. I spin around, watching in horror as a mirror fills the gap that was our entrance. My heart thumps in panic and I rush over, banging on it hard. "Let me out!" I scream.

"I guess it was a trap." Ellery mumbles.

"Really?" I exasperate. "We're trapped, Ellery! There's no other way out and this mirror isn't moving!" I push again, desperate and needy for it to go. No, no, I don't want this, not now. "Ellery!"

"Try moving that mirror one more time," Ellery commands. I take a deep breath, pushing again. This time she's watching, and through the reflection, I can see her face fall. "So, we're stuck in here. I guess it provides us with some decent safety from the other tributes."

"You could look at it that way. Or, you could see that we're stuck in a mirrored room with no way out." I snarl. I don't like this; I'm surprised Ellery hasn't blown up about it yet.

"Your attitude is not needed," she mumbles, running her hand over the smooth material. "We need to calm down and think rationally."

I can't think rationally, not when I'm trapped. Between us, we have weapons, but barely any food to survive two days. I highly doubt the other tributes will kill themselves within two days, which means, for all purposes, me and Ellery are screwed unless we get out. Of course, her constant hierarchy was great at the beginning... but right now, it's annoying to say the least. I need an angry and determined Ellery, not some girl who believes that rationality will save us from starvation.

"Ellery, we need to find a way out," I say, but she ignores me, continuing to slide her hand along the glass. "Ellery, are you listening to me?"

"I'm trying not to, but you're making it very hard at the moment." she replies absently, not even bothering to turn around.

"Fine, whatever, it's not like I'm trying to save us or anything." I glower, spinning back around at the mirror.

I can see Ellery behind me, but the most of it is just me, staring back with glassy eyes. What's so special about these mirrors? They don't look menacing or even scary. If it's a Gamemaker trap, it's a lame one.

But as if hearing me, the mirror begins to blur. It's not noticable at first, but then, the blur stretches out, like something waking up to life. I stare harder, my fingers aching from the grip around the bloodied hatchet in my hand. But looking back is still me, same dark skin and dark hair... until my mouth moves, but I didn't do that.

"What the-" I cut myself off as my eyes widen. The reflection's mouth isn't moving at all, but I know I spoke.

The lips peel into a toothy smile, before the girl zooms back, darkening as the edges blur and transform into that of tables and chairs. I gulp thickly, remembering this in my childhood. I'm so mesmerized by the sight, I forget to speak. Ellery should see this... but I need to see this.

The girl's face is clear, tears streaked on her cheeks, glittering on the black surfaces. She's upset, particularly when a flying object smacks her in the head. My lips part, as the girl wails. It's piercing and loud, and I quickly clamp my hands over my ears. She screams and howls, the shadows around her altering slowly, like tendrils of white breaking the black or glass ready to shatter. The scream continues to break through, until the shadows are shattered by the volume.

"Caritta!"

I snap back out, the movement taking my breath away. I struggle to compose myself, every inch of my body against me. I turn to Ellery, her face now white and contorted into fear. "E-E-"

"Don't look into the mirrors," she whispers, throat hoarse. It's only then I notice her eyes are red-rimmed, pupils dilated. "Look at me only."

I swallow again, desperate for saliva. "W-What did you see..." I mumble.

Her eyes harden. "It's none of your business," she sneers. "Just don't be an idiot and stay away from the mirrors."

I flick my tongue over my lips, cracked already. "It's hard to do that when we're trapped in a room where they're everywhere." I whisper, afraid something might... jump out at us.

"Look at the floor then," she hisses. "I'm only trying to help you, imbecile. Don't look at the mirrors, or do I have to physically force you to stare at the floor?"

I nod weakly, my head spinning. That... I never wanted to remember it again. I never wanted to know what it was like, the shame and guilt eating away at my soul. Ellery lets me go, pushing me away from her and shielding her arms with her arms. Gingerly, she lowers herself to the floor and stays put, knees curled up under her chin.

I don't dare look up as I join in. Even from the corner of my eye, I can tell that the mirrors are moving - or at least shifting - and the black is clear in such a light environment, moving like a living thing. It was a trap all along, and it wasn't as lame as I thought. I wish I was right more often.

* * *

**Cliff Harlaw, District Five Male.**

* * *

_Lucia._

I stumble down the hallway, my mind but a blur. I don't take in the surroundings, focused only on seeing her image, played around like a puppet through the mirror. The District Three girl, she killed her, stabbed her through the chest with a menacing smile. Why? Lucia wouldn't have harmed her. Lucia was sweet, nice, and would never, ever hurt a fly. She put up with Micah despite everything. Shouldn't that say something about her character?

_Micah._

Well, his death hurts as much. With him dead as well, I'm alone. Granted I would've probably been on my own with Lucia's death and Micah no doubt running, but I'm well and truly alone. No crazy and peculiar Micah, hidden around the corner, afraid I'm going to strike him down. No Lucia, hoping and praying that we can get along, just so she isn't pulled in-between.

All alone. I struggle to force down the emotions. I was always taught to hide them at the right places, at the right times. With dozens of cameras watching me, I guess it couldn't be a more perfect time to mask my emotions.

I stop, taking a deep breath. I never had plans on what to do if I was alone. All of my plans surrounded the idea of me and Lucia, sometimes including Micah.

I just... I don't know what to do. I was lucky to find them, sad to lose them.

I glance around the room, staring at my multiple complexions. I can see the sunken eyes and black uniform, masking the hallway in shadows. What are they even for? I don't know. I need to focus more on my survival, not the bitter memories of Lucia, determined and kind. Meat-girl, forever gone. A short and sweet friendship. I'll have to remember her as much as possible. Same goes for Micah, his quirks making him unforgettable.

For them, I keep moving, holding onto the backpack and sword. The glint catches a bounce of light and moves it, making the area seem brighter.

From the corner of my eye, I see a mirror suddenly grow dark.

Panic overrides my body as I spin around, raising my sword. It's obviously a trap, but it could be anything. I have to be prepared, even though I know that I won't win. Something inside of me has died. My morals, my code, it can't continue in here. My parents treated me to be poised, but can a murderer be poised? I look at the mirror harder, watching the shadows move, darkened tendrils dancing on the surface. It's like when the tributes are shown, only this time, the shadow is fuller, wider.

"Cliff..." I hear a hoarse whisper. My heart leaps to my throat and I stumble back until I hit the opposite wall.

The shadows contort and shape, revealing a ghostly image of what could only be described as my Mother. Her ashen hair and weathered eyes, looking at me with burning, black desire. "Cliff, you've failed me," she says, orbs snapping into a glare. "You're failed me!" she roars.

A million thoughts race across my mind as I sprint away, dropping the backpack. My worst fear was failure, for disappointment. My Mother, who I loved, who I wanted to make proud no matter what. No, no, it's only a dirty trick played against me.

But, as I run down the hall, her image chases me, forming on every mirror.

"You've failed me, coward!"

"You've allowed yourself to be a fool! You deserve to die!"

I can't stop panting, tears welling on my eyes so heavily that I don't see a mirror suddenly in front of me. I slam hard, bouncing back and off of my feet. It's a dead end. I look up in horror as her image stretches out, growing and becoming more horrific. The shadows contort her delicate features into that of something from a horror story, black and lithe, slowly caressing the mirror.

No, no, I'm not... I don't deserve to die. No, this isn't her. This isn't my Mom...

"You've destroyed this family," she hisses, hair sprayed out like that of a monster, jaw unhinged, revealing an elongated tongue and razor teeth. "You're the reason that we were never better off! You broke our hearts!" she bellows as her jaw reaches the floor. Her image grows, extends, until it's ready to explode. A howling scream pierces the air, deafening my ears as she finally combusts.

Out of her mouth sprays glass. I manage to cover my face just in time, but the cutting shards dart straight through my flimsy jumpsuit and into my skin, setting my entire body on fire. I would scream, but I don't think I have the energy in me. The Capitol have emotionally drained me in a matter of seconds, just by taking my Mother's face and turning it into something horrid, forever ruining the image in my mind. I might never see her again, and I'll die only ever remembering the dark, Capitol-tuned version.

Another explosion happens, shards of glass raining down on me and forcing me onto my back with such force, it knocks the wind from my body. I howl in pain, feeling as if I'm being stabbed all over at the same time, hot knives pressed into my skin. I feel a dark thud behind my eyes, a weak thump in my chest. I weakly open my eyes, a large piece of the object laid in front of me.

Her dark face returns, smaller but just as dark.

"Die, bastard child." she spits with venom.

A cracking noise breaks the deadly silence. I hear the movement, before the entire mirror crushes onto my back, taking away the pain for good.

* * *

**Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.**

* * *

I will not look, I will not fall into their devious, poisonous trap. I can't go through that again. Everyone will think of me as weak, as useless as the other tributes.

Caritta is nearby, looking at the ground as well when the cannon shatters the unnerving silence. I see her eyes glimpse up at me, curiosity clear.

"No," I mime, trying not to snarl as much. Violence more than likely won't quell her; maybe if I say it nice and slow, she'll understand that looking is giving them the power to break her. It'd probably send her insane and she might kill herself or, even worse, she might try and kill me. I'm not prepared to end her life as of yet, but I will if she turns into a rabid zombie, courtesy of the mirrors. Caritta stirs, moving her hair. "No." I say this time.

"But we need to know who died." she argues, biting onto her lip. She looks a lot younger and innocent, and I can't help but question my state of mind when I offered the alliance to her.

"It's not important," I lie. It is. For a game plan to work, you need to stay one step ahead, and that means crossing the lines and ticking the boxes when it comes to your competitors. "Caritta, I swear... if you do it, I will no longer be your ally. I will walk away."

"What, to the other side of the room?" she counters. I internally berate myself for failing at that, but I keep strong. "Fine, I won't look."

"No, go ahead and look," I take a different approach. "Obviously whatever you saw wasn't important to you, even though it seemed to scare me."

She pulls into herself a little bit more, eyes now conflicted. Good, be conflicted, that way you can't do something stupid. "It was." she mumbles.

"Then don't do it."

"We need to know, Ellery... you can break me out of it." she says. It rushes at me, the reality that she's sacrificing her possible lack of sanity towards an alliance that I plan to eradicate when it suits me. As she stands, I leap forward.

My eyes fix on the shadowy image of what seems to be a person, standing at the foot of a mirror. Their face turns out to be Cliff and my stomach drops. What happened? He's on his own? But the mirrors play their tricks and Cliff is reduced into a fetal position on the floor, as the mirrors break and explode, raining down shards of glass that tear into his skin, pulling screams from an anguished throat.

It fades and the black abyss returns. I try to shield my eyes, but it's too late. Caritta is already lost, eyes looking glassy as they stare ahead.

My eyes lock onto the black mess in front of me, drawing me in. Somewhere in my mind, I growl and try to fight, but in reality, I fall easily to the trap like anyone would. I can see the darkened edge, the cliff at the tips of my mirror-self's feet. Just the sight makes me sick to my stomach, heart thumping at my chest. It takes my breath away and I struggle to breathe, the sheer volume of the height being stretched out as the landscape shifts to show the deadly drop.

No, don't... I can't peel my eyes away, even as the image plays against the fears that plague my mind. No, no, please don't.

Mirror-me is pushed forward, her face masked into something of fear and pure terror. It's not me, not really, because heights are the only thing that have ever made me into a blubbering wreck. It's a common fear, the mere thoughts able to paralyse me into a frozen state. She tries to fight it, lips ripped open in a scream that blasts at my ears, sending a shiver down my spine.

Then she's pushed finally, feet slipping on the crumbling rock. A scream escapes my throat, though I don't know whether it's real me or mirror-me. The picture zooms in on the swift plummet, my breath gone and my heart leaping to my throat. I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Everything is suddenly so hot and thick, like a hot blanket being stuffed over my mouth.

Pointy rocks appear at the bottom. She lands on the spikes and another scream escapes my throat as the shadowy version of me explodes into a blackened puddle.

I zoom out of the picture and am instantly blasted by the light mirrors. My knees go weak and I fall down, digging my nails into the pebbled floor. I take gulp after gulp of fresh air, trying to slow my body down.

It was a trick. Show us another death - just what we need to know to survive - and then lure us into the trap again. I swipe at my teary eyes, hearing Caritta land down next to me.

"I-I-I-" she babbles, words sloppy.

"Never... again..." I breathe. I turn to look at her, anger fleeing to my face. "I am... never, ever doing that again, you got that? You... you want to be reckless, you do it on your own..."

She looks at me, tears peppered across her eyelashes. "I-I-"

"Yeah," I cut her. "I can't go through that again. I'm not saving you next time."

A part of me doesn't want to look up. A simple mirror has reduced me to this, and it's stupid, because a mirror does nothing but reproduce our pigments and then reflect it back to us. It's an object and it's pulled me down to this, someone so intelligent now forced to show the emotions and fear she wanted to conceal. Hesitant, I look up, the mirrors still clear; the blackness obviously having evaporated. I pull myself to shaky legs, gritting my teeth. Caritta does the same, a bitter reflection of what happened to me.

"Caritta?" I say, flexing my fingers. I still try and control my breathing, but it's coming back. Just slowly.

She spins around, sniffing. "Yeah?"

"You're lucky that I don't kill you," I whisper hoarsely, watching her face tighten. "But I won't, because you're not unintelligent like the other district people, are you?" she shakes her head and I smile. "Well find us a way out and I'll let you have the first sponsor, no matter who it is presented to."

Because if bribery makes her work faster, and in turn gets me far away my fears, then it's a win-win for the pair of us.

* * *

******Came Back Haunted by Nine Inch Nails.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

******Cliff Harlaw, District Five.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Jake, I'm very sorry, but I couldn't think of what to do with Cliff, so he kinda became a mule to what the mirrors do. I'm sorry.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**POV that stood out the most?**_

_**Thoughts on the mirrors, and what they might play for other tributes?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**I doubt anyone expected Cliff to die. It's sad, but sometimes, I need to not be predictable. That, and I had no idea what to do with him, whereas I have development and subplots planned for the others :/**

**So my mirrors! Think of the darkness as some sort of Inception-inspired design. That, and black charcoal drawings with a more cartoon affect to it. **

**For anyone who can't see it, the mirrors (for now) show deepest fears. They just know what makes you break, i.e. Ellery and heights, Cliff and his standing at home etc.**

**This is early because the next one might be late, I dunno. I need to work on FFYL's Reapings.**


	10. Phenomena

**Phenomena.**

_They hide it, they never gonna find it._

* * *

**Kristopher Midden, District Three Male.**

* * *

I don't move my eyes from the mirror. I keep my glare accusingly, as if the Gamemakes are on the other side. Thought it was funny? You won't break me. I'm too smart for all of you little Capitol lap-dogs.

It's really not hard to know what the arena stands for. The mirrors reflect back what we see, maybe even what we want to see. But the trick is that they lure you with false promises and ideals, to thereby trap you in your worst nightmares. It wasn't hard to work out; they tried to show me returning home, and my Father's gleeful smile, but it would be false. He wouldn't be proud of me for winning, just happy.

That's when it changed into something grotesque. I simply pulled away; I don't think they got the reaction they wanted from me, seeing as the mirrors turned stark black and attacked Wayne mentally in response. I think it targets the weaker minds. It would make sense, considering Wayne isn't exactly the smartest person in the world. But, he's a cool person, just not that intelligent. That's if the mirrors work like that. For now, it's the only real idea I have. I'll need to collect some evidence; it makes me wish that I jacked the notepad and pen from Ampry now.

Wayne rubs a circle on his temple. "That's not cool," he mutters, the black evaporating and returning our reflections to us. "That's just cruel. Inhumane." he adds bitterly.

"It's the Hunger Games, lazy bones. It's suppose to be cruel and inhumane, otherwise not all of us would die."

Wayne falls quiet. I admit, I play the lazy card against him at every corner, but he fed me that information. It was one of the first things I noticed, in which he clarified for me. Our alliance wouldn't work as well if it weren't for the trust. I trust him a lot; I only presume he trusts me.

"What did you see?" I ask. Now is the perfect time to find out more. I sit opposite my ally, watching intently. "Tell me everything. Every last detail."

His eyebrows knit. "Why?" he swallows. "I doubt all of it is important..."

"Because if we know what they showed you, we know what to expect. I can deduce the arena's tricks quicker. Which, in the long run, helps us out more, correct?" I smile. He nods slowly, so I make sure to mentally cap everything. "Oh, but before you start: you went black and came back. Bravo, my friend."

He narrows his eyes. "Not the time to make a joke," he complains. "But I saw... things. Like, things I have nightmares over. It was always about me though."

"Self-centred much." I snort.

"No, I mean like, it was my nightmares, my thoughts... I was always present, it always happened to a little doll version of myself. It's like they've got into my mind or something," his voice drops low. "I couldn't help but want to scream. The sight was unbelievable."

"But what exactly was it?" I question. By the sound of things, it seems the arena is made to psychologically break tributes. Of course, it could be that it prays on the weak, thus, when it realised that I wouldn't fall for it, it targeted Wayne instead.

"This... nightmare I had when I was a kid. Falling into a black hole and never getting out," he admits quietly, colour draining from his face. "They showed me my family, looking on with smiles because I'll never return. They called me lazy, told me that I was better off dead or missing than at home."

"But that isn't true, surely?"

"It's not. At least, no-one has ever said it to my face," he looks up, eyes back to normal. "Screw this crap. I know it wasn't real but it scared the life out of me."

Like I guessed. I stand up and turn to face the mirror, ghosting my fingers over it once more. The design is magnificent. But, I won't tell Wayne what I found out. I have to play both sides of the field in order to come out unscathed. To him, I'm a joker from a smart district. To myself, I'm an enigma, pretending and fooling people to get the results I want. If he knew I was smart, then he would've said something by now.

"What are you doing?" Wayne asks. "I don't think the mirrors will come and go as you ask," he stands, too, moving next to me. "They'll come when we least expect it. Like just then."

There has to be a trick. They must strike for a reason. Maybe there's a timer and it goes around the entire arena, or maybe segments attack. It could be the fact that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe that we're boring them. Gamemakers might target alliances when their entertainment has run dry. I scowl; I placed poisonous food everywhere, you'd think that might be enough entertainment to last me a few days.

"No deaths," Wayne says hollow. "Maybe the mirrors got the others too. Ampry and Asya might be cracking as we speak."

Ampry wouldn't; she's tough and smart. A deadly combination. But, she's also fragile, I know that much. She might be tough-spirited, but physically she's about average, maybe less. Intelligence, well, I probably trump her on that. "Maybe," I reply, picking up the backpack. "But I'm not staying to find out whether or not we'll be cracking like a mirror," I laugh lightly at my own joke, but Wayne is less than impressed. "Do you want to be mentally attacked again?"

His eyes widen. "Well... no..."

"Then grab your stuff and let's go," he bends over and scoops up our belongings, including his shears. "I think the longer we stay, the higher the chance that we'll be cornered again. Your screams could've attracted every other tribute nearby."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replies defensively from behind. "Next time, I'll make sure to muffle the terror, okay? Just for your convenience."

I smile. "Thanks bro, that'd be appreciated."

* * *

**Gloria Lavelle, District One Female.**

* * *

I eye Cres and Austal up curiously. With Lakyn gone, the dynamics have shifted. Andora has become much more pleasant. Cres is more open to speaking aloud, and Austal doesn't seem so pushed under the thumb. I guess her death was beneficial for us to move forward.

I just wish I had got her first. Surprisingly, her reflexes were sharp. My knife sailed right over her head and straight into that little girl. Now, when I stare in the mirrors, I can feel her innocent eyes staring back. I don't think it's guilt - I'm here to do what I have to do - but I'll never forget her. My first kill. Such a young kid and completely by accident.

I guess it's why I'm antsy. When I saw those eyes full of darkness staring at me through the mirror, I freaked. It was unnerving. But, I now know the tricks and deceit. I can conquer it.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask Andora. She looks up, eyes glossy. "For movement. Staying immobile is dangerous."

"I'll be fine in a few more minutes," she responds coolly. "A knife wound doesn't just miraculously heal itself."

Her words are a surprising comfort. I don't exactly want them to all give up. If they did, then I'm more at risk. I could probably do well on my own - nothing is keeping me here - except... except I don't know what will happen if I go alone. Something about being in a group feels strangely comforting. If they come for me, I at least have back-up. No matter what you say; an alliance, no matter how dysfunctional, fights for each other... except Lakyn. But nobody wanted her around anymore.

"Gloria?" I look towards Austal, whose suddenly facing towards me. "I think we should stay here."

I can feel the shadows lurking. "Why?" I question. He better have a good reason to back up a ludicrous idea.

"It's safer," he points out. "Over there is the only mirror that you can see through. What I saw through, at least. If he... cover it up or something, we might be okay. At least until Andora is better."

I nod curtly. "If you're so sure." I concede.

The difference is really noticable. Austal actually spoke up for the first time ever. When Cres comes over, though, his face falters and he moves to the other side of the hallway. Cres' face falls too. Since when did they become close? My eyes narrow as they switch between the two boys. Cres cares too much for someone who, as far as I could tell, I've barely seen him talk to. Then again they might've talked, I don't pay much attention to any of them.

A soft ding echoes in the air. Everyone looks up as the parachute drifts down, landing at Andora's foot. She kicks it away, grimacing.

"Fine, I'll do it," I say, scooping it up. I undo the annoyingly trivial ribbons and pop the canister open. Inside lies two blue pills, a bandage, and a wicked knife. I unfold the slip. "It's for you, Andora. Looks like they want you to hurry up and get better."

I hand her the pills and bandage, keeping the wicked knife to myself. Still inside the canister, I slide it into my backpack for safe keeping.

"What does it say?" Cres asks. Something about his tone tells me that he was hoping it was for him, not Andora. Maybe district jealousy. I would know the feeling, if Lancel wasn't so hated by Swift.

"It says that the pills and bandage is for Andora," I answer, screwing the note up and tucking it also in the backpack. "I thought it would be obvious, considering she's the only one with wounds."

"I have a bruise and a cut." Austal cuts in meekly.

"But you can move," I counter, looking back at Andora. "Movement will cause her wound to open further and further. It'd only get worse."

"I told you that," Cres frowns. "You wanted her to get up and move."

I shrug, but don't bother to respond. It doesn't matter who said it; whoever did is right. If it gets infected, Andora will be a bigger burden than with a simple wound and less experience than the rest of us. I'd prefer a whole unit than bits and pieces. It's like we're not ever splitting up to hunt in separate groups; it's basically splitting up the flock so that the wolves have a better shot. It's where most Career groups went wrong, where we would've headed if Lakyn was still here.

"So we're waiting for Andora?" Austal asks.

Cres nods, but Austal only seems to look away. Maybe it's an inferior complex of some kind. I mean, when comparing the two, Cres is taller, wider, better looking and stronger. He's everything that, frankly, Austal isn't. "Yes," I cut in, and Austal hums. "Until then, Cres, you watch that side. I'll watch this side. Austal, keep an eye on those mirrors."

And Cres thought he'd be in charge. I don't want to be, not really, but at least I can lead them better. That, and I need to keep the sense of comfort in tact... cause the moment it's destroyed, I'm gone without question. For now, they have more worth than they think.

Andora swallows the pills dry. Cres bends down and helps her cover the wound with a fresh bandage. Austal sits still, eyes snapping at the opposite wall of mirrors.

I suppose we aren't a bad team. They aren't bad people either. It's tolerable, to say the least, now that the flaws have been destroyed.

But something in my gut clenches. We can only sit pretty for so long. Lancel, ever so stupid Lancel, might plan something. He's reckless and impulsive enough. Austal barely got away from them. They're powerful, and if or when we collide, I think casualties will be abundant. The knot twists tighter. We need to hurry. We need the advantage over them.

"Hurry." I say to Cres through gritted teeth. If we don't move now, we might as well kiss our chances of survival goodbye. Because when it happens, more than one person will fall. Can't say I didn't warn them.

* * *

**Lancel Deimos, District One Male.**

* * *

Knowing that seven tributes are already dead is a comfort I can enjoy. Even better knowing that Lakyn is dead, and both Thorn and Rotem are okay because their district partners are alive. It's good; I need them both to be on top form, for when we strike. Without a leader, they'll be confused. I learned from Gloria's telling to Aphrodite that the Careers are all loners, forced together by Lakyn. She's gone, they'll want to walk, so right now is the perfect time to attack and conquer.

Gloria will be the first on my list. Her, and Cres. They're the biggest threats.

"Thorn, are you okay?" I ask. Thorn has been awfully quiet since he was almost killed by Austal. He looks up, eyes alight. "If you need to talk, I'm sure you can. Austal almost killed you."

"I could've handled myself," he hisses in return, even though we both know it's a lie. He feels the need to prove himself to us, but he doesn't have to. As long as he's capable to a point, he can stay. I look at him, a smirk on my lips. "You didn't have to save me. You only did it because you wanted to steal the show."

"I did it to save you, actually," I laugh. I glance at Rotem, who isn't paying attention. "Look, Thorn," I lean closer, turning my voice to a whisper. "You can be weak. It's totally okay."

His jaw clenches. "I'm not weak. You just want me to be. There I was thinking we were getting along." he replies coldly.

"Dude, I'm only trying to help," I narrow my eyes. "You're the one jumping to conclusions and everything. I'm not selfish; I wanted you as an ally because you seemed cool."

He looks at me quickly, before turning. I sigh and begin to look through the backpack in my lap, hearing Rotem scrape her newfound spear along the pebbled floor. We need to strike soon. It's been about an hour since the last cannon, which means that they could be thinking about splitting right at this moment. No, together, the target is easier. If they split, we'll have to hunt, and I doubt we can sneak up on Gloria when her hearing is pretty acute.

"I think we need to attack the Careers." I announce, causing them both to turn to me with curious looks. "I think now is the perfect time. I guarantee you that many people in Panem are waiting for us to do it. Come on, it's our duty."

Rotem looks unsure. "I don't know..."

"I agree," Thorn counters. "It's reckless. I might be impulsive, but I'm not stupid," he clarifies, standing up. "We should vote."

"That's not fair!" I argue. "You guys will say no. I'll lose."

"Precisely," Thorn shrugs. "We're an alliance. You just said you wanted me as an ally because I'm cool. So, respect mine and Rotem's opinions."

I stand up, pulling the backpack with me. "You don't understand," I begin. "This is the perfect time! We may never get another shot like this again."

"Yeah, because we'll be dead," Thorn glowers. "It's okay for you. You have training and everything, and you know about their strengths and weaknesses through your district partner. Me and Rotem have nothing," he adds with a bitter tone. "It's not all about you."

"Okay, whoa, I never said it was for starters," I defend, raising my hands to him. Thorn might be slighty taller and broader, but as he said, I'm trained. I could take him down in a fight easily. "I'm just saying that sitting around is stupid." I don't bother to add that the mirrors are playing with my eyes. Too much movement and light, it's... it's going to happen if I don't move.

"Running into battle is stupid." he declares. "I'm sorry, Lance, but no. Right, Rotem?"

I turn to Rotem, but she doesn't look too against it now. Her eyes are wide and slightly terrified. "I don't know. You both have valid points I guess," she pulls the spear closer, held against her side. "The Gamemakers might get bored," she pauses, blinking a few times. "I don't know... I don't want to decide. I'll do whatever."

Thorn sighs, and I turn back to him. "Well?" I look up. I'll have to target his weakness; competitiveness. "I mean, if you think you're not up to it because you think you're not as strong as the others, I totally understand. I mean, don't worry about it, it's not like I could expect you to fight the likes of Cres," I look him in the eye. "Or Austal... who almost got you."

I watch as Thorn's face tightens and contorts into determination. It's as if someone is singing in his head at what a great idea it is. "Fine," he says through gritted teeth. "Fine. But I want Austal."

I can't help but grin wildly. I pat him on the shoulder, using my other hand to sling the backpack over my own shoulder. "You did the right thing, man," I glance over at Rotem. "Come on Ro, we're off to get us some Careers!"

* * *

**Arietta Fenton, District Six Female.**

* * *

"Did you want some berries?" Jericho asks. Just the sight makes my stomach flip. I shake my head, watching his smile falter. "I did what I had to do."

"I know." I try to force a smile that just won't come. Each memory of what happened makes me less and less comfortable with Jericho. Before, I felt so safe. Now I can only see his actions. It's stupid and I should know better, considering the violence my Father often brought around to the house, but it's hard. The mirrors replayed the action and it just makes it seem more and more like Jericho lost control, that something inside of him snapped and he wanted to decapitate the District Four girl.

It's not the same Jericho that I painted with, nor the awkward boy that had to confirm we were in an alliance, because he wasn't sure. Something just isn't the same.

"I... I wish you didn't see. Actually, I wish that they didn't show up." I can see his jaw clench, his eyes burning with rage. I have to will myself to not shrink back. "I'm so sorry, Arietta."

"It's not your fault," I smile sadly, feeling the conflict inside my chest just knot. "You had to do what you had to do. You've already told me. I don't... I don't think of you any differently."

"I feel like you do." he bows his head, sullen.

I shuffle forward, and search through the backpacks. He peeks out the corner of his eyes as I pull forth the glow sticks, in case of emergency. I snap one in half and watch as it lights up, a sickly yellow ghosting over the room. Jericho starts to look up, the light cascading over his face. "Let's paint or something," I offer gently. "I mean, it's therapeutic, I've heard."

It's mainly for me, though Jericho agrees and breaks another in half and watching it glow. We'll probably never need these anyway. I start to swivel mine in the air, eyes full of awe as I watch the trail of light following the object.

The end of the hallway suddenly falls dark, making my glow stick grow brighter. A gasp locks in my throat as the mirrors around us turn a solid black. "Jericho..." I mumble.

Images start to trace on the screen. It's a forest. A forest of some sort. Then, a white dot appears in the background. I shrink into Jericho's side, his arms suddenly locking me to his side. We should've run. We still can. "We need to move." Jericho mumbles, but his voice trails until he just... stops speaking. His hands fall away from their strong hold on my body.

The white dot turns out to be a stretched-out figure, just standing in the distance. My whole body starts to violently shake as I clutch onto Jericho's limp hands harder. The figure - with gangly arms and what seems to be a suit - nears rapidly, blinking through the trees.

"Jericho!" I scream, throwing the glow stick at the mirror. "Jericho, wake up!"

The creature soon fades. The blackness disappears, returning the light to the room. Jericho's hand suddenly grips back, and I scream again from shock. He stares at me, confusion clear.

"What happened?" he whispers.

In that moment, all paranoia over his actions fade away. He did it to protect me, after all. I can't hate him for natural instincts. "I-I don't know..." I whisper, gripping onto Jericho like he's my only line to reality. What was it? Why did I see it, and not Jericho? "I don't know..."

"Come on," Jericho says, standing up and pulling me with him. "We should go, before whatever happened happens again," he echoes my own thoughts, scrambling our belongings into our arms. My eyes fall on the discarded glow stick, and something inside of me yearns to pick it up. "We'll head somewhere safer."

Jericho leads us away from the scene. I squeeze onto the glow stick, as the light starts to fade away. I feel like something inside of me has broken. It has nothing to do with Jericho anymore.

We walk faster and faster, turning down one hallway and then the next. Jericho is right; this is a maze, except this maze has no exit. We're trapped in here, kinda like mice.

It hits me, then, as I see the reflection of me and Jericho together. I'll probably die in here. One winner. I want to desperately go home, but I depend too much on Jericho. Well, I don't depend, but it's nice to know that I have him on my side. If he dies, I'll be on my own. I won't have anyone. How can I win? Compared to Jericho, I doubt I can deflect throwing knives or the brute strength of someone older, stronger, finer.

And Jericho deserves to win as much as me. Probably even more since he killed. They'll be rooting for him; I'm just the deadweight. My whole mood falls deeper and deeper into the darkness of my soul.

"Stay here," Jericho says when we stop. "I'm going to check up ahead."

I smile sadly as he walks up the hallway, tomahawk on hand. He'd kill again for me, I just know it.

I press my back against the mirror, too scared to be open. Then, a blur of blackness moves on the mirror opposite me, and I have to bite down on my tongue not to scream.

But then it transforms. The girl from District Three, Ampry, in her black jumpsuit. For a moment there, I thought that creature had followed me... I move forward slowly, Ampry having stopped. She's breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. My fingers trace over the glass. Can she not see me? Maybe it's one way. That's when I see Ampry cry. Sparkly tears fall from her eyes, a bloody knife held against her shaking chest.

She stops crying as quickly as she started. Roughly, she swipes at her eyes, before moving forward. Something must have happened. But, then, I remember her kill in the bloodbath and my whole body falls to an even deeper low.

It must've took it's toll on her. She's actually crying, and if she is crying over her kill, then it shows she's human. Why hasn't Jericho cried? I glance down the hallway, Jericho still surveying the area. He hasn't shown any remorse for the girl's death, only excuses. I still... no, I don't blame him. I'm over it because he... he's a comfort. He's something that'll help me keep grounded and safe.

But it's unnerving, the way Jericho will make the excuse, but not shed a single tear. He said he done it for me; but I'd rather him at least cry over it, then keep a strong defense. It can only be strong for so long, so I've learned.

Jericho returns quickly. "We're safe. For now, at least." he smiles warmly.

"Good." I force a smile. The more I think about it, the more it worries me. What will the arena turn Jericho into?

* * *

**Asya Novik, District Ten Female.**

* * *

When I look into the mirrors, I see myself. I see a little girl with rosy cheeks and a saddened expression. I see a girl who does nothing but push people away, by always bringing bad luck. A girl who is useless. I sigh, sliding back down to the floor. Rafe soon joins me, bringing about his warmth that I don't deserve, that I'll eventually somehow corrupt.

"I'm going to check some things out." Joshua says, his voice low. I shrink as he walks pass me, and Rafe edges closer. With Josh disappearing and returning every couple of minutes, it's left me feeling edgy. As if, at any moment, someone will explode.

"Hey, it's alright," Rafe comforts as Joshua disappears around the corner. "Bryony's death has just upset him, it's all. He knows you didn't do anything."

"I didn't," I reply quietly. "I was just... I was nearby when it happened. I did-dn't even know, I was scared and just ran."

And it's true. When I ran from Joshua to save myself, I hid. I hid until I saw Bryony come over, her eyes wide and lost. I called out to her but that's when the District Eleven girl charged in, cutting away her life. I was so terrified and I checked for a pulse that just wasn't there, blood cascading onto the floor and her eyes, open and lifeless, just staring ahead. I would've been okay if the mirrors didn't repeat the images. Now, when Josh looks at me, I can sense the anger and tension. It'll never be the same. I always do this, I always cause some sort of trouble. They were all so nice and I ruined it.

Josh soon comes back, his face contorted into disgust. Rafe stands immediately, alarmed. "Hey man, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he rasps. "Peachy. Just wonderful."

Rafe's face falls. Josh turns around, eyes glaring straight at me. I can't help but push myself back against the mirrors, hoping they'd just suck me right in. "Josh, come on. I mean, I understand it's sad and everything. I miss her too. But we need..." Rafe swallows thickly, placing a hand on Joshua's shoulder. But his eyes never leave me, an unnerving stare that sends my spine into a shiver. "We need to move on. Bryony would want us to move on."

His cold eyes turn to Rafe. "And you know Bryony so well, right? You know that she'd want us to move on, right?"

Rafe shrinks back slightly. "I didn't know her as well as you. You guys are close, we all knew that, but I'm just saying..."

"Well don't. Please, just don't." he replies, voice hollow. Joshua just isn't the same anymore. They broke him. Coldly, he shoulders pass Rafe towards the hallway again.

"I don't know what to do," Rafe mumbles, turning around. I frown even harder; it's taking a toll on Rafe too. All because of me. I done this. I ruined this. If it wasn't for me, Bryony would still be alive, and Joshua would be okay, and Rafe would smile again. "I just... I don't think Josh is going to be the same," he takes a seat next to me, a mop of brown hair covering his eyes. "I feel like we might have to go soon."

My eyes widen. Is he really suggesting this? "Go? Go where?"

"Leave Josh..." he whispers. "If this carries on, Asya, I don't know what'll happen. It's too risky."

"It's not... it's not like he'll attack us," I reply quietly, scared Josh will hear. I don't want to hurt his feelings... but what if Rafe is right? If so, it's my fault. I've sent Joshua crazy. "He won't. No, no, he won't, Rafe. This is Josh... he's friendly and bubbly. At least, he was."

But Rafe just stares at me with saddened eyes. "I can't take that risk though. Not with you, at least."

"I can look after myself..." I reply quietly. I've done so my whole life before, I'm sure in here is no different. Besides... if I leave, maybe Joshua will come back to his senses? But Rafe won't just let me walk away, even if I asked or pleaded. He's taken on an older brother role, even though he didn't need to nor did I want him to.

For a couple of minutes, Josh enters the room and keeps leaving. Each time, his eyes are either wild or sunken, a mixture of emotions overriding his face. I can feel the nerves rolling off of Rafe's body. I sink into myself a little bit more each time Josh looks at me, eyes accusing. He told me that it wasn't my fault yet his eyes - so sharp and narrow - tell otherwise. Rafe's suggestion looks more and more appealing, even though we'd be leaving Josh who is in a bad state... for each answer, there's just another question.

Rafe touches my shoulder. I flinch, looking at him. "We'll move in a day or two. We'll see if Josh gets better or worse. Then, we'll decide."

"Okay," I nod. "I just... I feel bad..." I bite down on my lip. "He might need us."

"Or he might try and kill us," he reasons. Everything inside of me goes cold. "We... we don't know what he's like anymore. We have to be realistic."

Josh enters the room all of a sudden. "Guys. I'm sorry." he mumbles, head bowing.

"It's fine man, we know you're suffering," Rafe replies, but his tone isn't as warm for Joshua anymore. It's a little hardened, as if talking to a naughty child after they've done something wrong. "But going out there on your own isn't good. I mean, what are you doing?"

"They show her..." Josh answers quietly. "The mirrors. They show her death over and over again. They taunt me. Show me that the girl killed Bryony when she did nothing wrong..." his eyes snap up, coldness taking over. "They show me Asya, laughing quietly at Bryony's corpse."

"Whoa." Rafe quietly gasps. "It must be a trick. Asya wouldn't do that."

Their eyes fall on me, accusing and expecting. I stand up, finding some spirit. "I didn't laugh at her. I wouldn't!" I argue, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks.

They used my insecurities against me. They must know; they must've asked my district, asking how that Asya Novik girl is. They probably spilled the truths of my bad luck, how wherever I go, someone gets injured or something bad happens. Her own Father won't even look her in the eye anymore. I clench my fists and Rafe rushes over, wrapping me in a hug.

But my eyes are fixated on Josh, and likewise. They cut through my bravado and pain. They stare, his jaw clenched, and I look back. I didn't kill her. But I didn't help her either. If anything, I might as well had twisted the knife myself.

* * *

**Rotem Everly, District Seven Female.**

* * *

We walk through the hallways quietly, Lancel up front whilst Thorn trails behind. I don't know what Lancel said, but a fire has ignited in Thorn's body. He seems full of vigor. Well, he seems, he might not actually be so. I thought I saw him shaking earlier, but he seems rather composed now. I guess he must have the driving adrenaline for what Lancel wants to do. In all honesty, I'm scared. I don't want to do this but I didn't want to say no. They didn't have to let me in this alliance, but they did, and I'd rather not argue. Confrontation makes me queasy.

Lancel cranes his head around the corner, holding his palm out for us to stop. "Wait," he mutters, looking around. "Okay, all clear."

We carry on walking. The spear drags along the floor and Lancel turns around, telling me to pick it up. I don't feel comfortable doing this. It's dangerous and, I mean, it's really dangerous.

But, I can't say anything. I should've - and every bone in my body wanted to speak out against his wishes - but I couldn't. The words evaporated on my tongue. The thought left my mind. I only thought about proving my mother wrong, and keeping this alliance together. Lancel is impulsive and Thorn follows. It's a dangerous combination, but it could be a good one. I bite on my lip gently, as the mirrors begin to distort.

"Whoa, what's going on?" Lancel says aloud as the mirror closest to him suddenly turns black. "Oh shit," he mutters, as a sharp wail cuts the air. I clamp my hands over my ears as Lancel shrieks.

Thorn slams into my back and I stutter, losing my balance. I hit the pebbled floor with a thud, noticing that the mirrors all around us are sharply turning into nothing but black. It looks suffocating, as if stealing the light from the hallway.

"Quick, quick!" Lancel manages to shout over the noise. Thorn helps me up and we start running, but it's too late. The noise is still in my mind, and the black abyss chases us along the walls. Then, it shifts.

I can't stop myself from looking. I remove my hands from my ears, mesmerized by the sight of my reflection, except... it isn't. It's something more beautiful and captivating than what I normally am. Sometimes, I just wouldn't look in the mirror because there wasn't much point. But this, it shows me in a better light. That is until the darkness looms over. What was my reflection is now a distorted mess of angry eyes and pointed teeth.

Thorn stumbles into me again, snapping me from the picture. I take a few deep breaths, looking him in the eye. He looks horrified. Lancel halts to a stop somewhere up front. "Guys, come on!" he commands with a shout.

Thorn clasps onto my hand, and I can tell he's upset. Whatever happened, it's affected him more than he's letting on. He forces a weak smile and then pulls me along, into a sprint after our leader.

I can't shake the doubt though. Something deep inside of my stomach tells me that something will go wrong, that someone will die. A clash between two groups never left everyone unharmed. I remember, a few years ago, watching it. The Careers were attacked by a band of outer tributes. Four of them died, bringing hope to the outer districts. The only difference, though, is Lancel. They could hate him for leaving. At least, I think he left. It shows the level of our friendship when I don't even know why Lancel isn't with them.

Soon enough, the mirrors give in. Me and Thorn pull over for a deep breath, and as I look over my shoulder, I see the shadows retreating into the ceiling and floor.

"About time," Lancel suddenly says, walking down towards us casually. Then, he squints, face contorting into pain. It has to be pain. Why else would Lancel be in discomfort? "I guess they only work in certain places, you know, like animals and territory," he guesses, eyeing both of us up. The cut on my arm throbs in pain, the bruise on my chin, but I somehow manage to weakly smile. "And you, Thorn?"

"Perfectly fine." he lies. I try to hide my frown as Lancel smirks. Thorn isn't fine, but why won't he tell Lancel. Or, more importantly, why did he tell me?

That's when the faint whispering of people drift to my ear. Lancel's face both lights up and falters. I go to move, only realising that Thorn still has a lock on my hand. I fight away the blush on my cheek. "Thorn... can I have my hand back?"

He releases me instantly. "S-Sorry," he stutters, before looking at Lancel whose drifted off into his own little world, following the noise. "Please don't tell him." Thorn quickly says.

"About what?"

He smiles. "Thank you."

But, as he walks away, I only blink. I couldn't tell Lancel because I don't fully understand it myself. He seems keen on not letting Lancel know whatever is bothering him.

As the boys search the mirrors, I swing the backpack over my shoulder, sorting through. I abandon the spear on the floor, pulling out two sharp knives, tucking them into the suit pockets. It'll mainly be hand-to-hand combat, I expect. I can't imagine that weapons besides knives will be used that often. I swallow thickly and a knot forms in my stomach. It takes a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

"Jackpot!" Lancel cheers, but in a whisper. He leans into a mirror as Thorn runs over. They both stare into their reflections, except, it isn't their reflection. As I step forward, I notice blonde hair that can't be any of ours, because we're all dark. On the other side of the mirror is the Careers, the blonde coming from Andora, leant against the mirror with knees perched under her chin. "They must be on the other side," he snaps his head up and down the aisle, before patting the window gently. "I guess there must be a secret entrance. Maybe we can jump them! Rotem, Thorn, start patting down the mirrors."

We do as we're told. Thorn goes one way and I go another, Lancel staying to observe the others. He makes comments such as Gloria look pissed and how it's best to avoid her sight, or how Thorn only barely won against Austal and it was time for revenge.

My fingers graze over a dip in the surface. I frown, pressing deeper. Lancel's voice drifts as the mirror suddenly disappears into air. I can't stop myself from falling, landing hard on the pebble floor once more.

"Rotem, no!" I hear Lancel's voice, loud and clear, his shadow looming over me.

"Well, what do we have here," a female voice interrupts. I snap my gaze towards the Careers, now all ready, their weapons aimed at us. Gloria steps forward, knife placed between her fingers. "Lancel." she nods curtly.

"Gloria," he responds with a smirk. "I think it's time we brought the party to your place, no?"

* * *

******Phenomena by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

******No Deaths.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**POV that stood out the most?**_

_**Who you think and want to die in the Careers versus Lancel's Careers next chapter?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. Having no deaths, it was suppose to set up future plots and some development. I don't know if that actually worked or not...**

**This is the only non-death chapter. From now on, every chapter will see at least one tribute die. It's just easier that way. No death chapters literally drain me of creative sometimes.**

**And yeah, that was Slenderman haha. I couldn't resist okay! But he's not Slenderman here. He's creepy shadow mirror guy.**


	11. Fallen

**Fallen.**

_I'm staring shadows in the eye. Oh, good morning, will you just wait until I die?_

* * *

**Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

I don't move. I just stand there.

I can feel it running through my veins. It burns, it stings, it's everything I've ever felt, just brimming to the top until it spills over. My heart pulsates, making each hair on my body stand. Lancel and Rotem, they're on the other side. I can't bear to follow them. I heard them, with their tight voices, whispering as Rotem fell through. They'll take her; they'll take me.

The mirrors begin to flicker. I step back - the urge to just flee - before hearing a high pitched noise. The mirrors soon become transparent, revealing everything I don't want to face; that Lancel someone coined me into doing. I should hate him, but I can't. I can't hate someone whose too similar to me.

They stand there, in a group, eyes and faces twisted and looking. My eyes widen and Lancel turns to face me. His lips peel into a wicked smile. He's been waiting for this, I can tell. He says he isn't a Career, but he's acting like them now.

"Now!" he screams.

With the mirrors gone, I charge forward. The boy from District Two has no time to combat me, as I thrust him up against the opposite mirrors with a thump. I hear a hiss, before chaos soon erupts.

His fist comes barreling into my face. I take it on the chin, stumbling. Another hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around. My mind blurs as I manage to avoid Austal's swing of his spear, the wooden end catching his ally in the stomach.

For a split second, I see a knife sliding down Gloria's hand. "Knife!" I howl.

Rotem and Lancel's eyes go wide. Gloria throws the knife, swiftly cutting the air, before I take another punch and things soon blacken. I hear footsteps, fighting and kicking at the legs near my body. I claw at the pebble ground, desperation causing my throat to close up. I feel like I can't breathe. Everything feels suffocating.

I force myself onto my feet. Despite the chaos, things manage to slow down for me to see Rotem and Lancel disappearing through the mirrors, now that the battleground has grown.

Austal is suddenly there in my face. He swings with another punch, which I dodge. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the flashbacks of how Austal overpowered me and made me feel weak, timid, like a scared little child huddled in the corner of his room. I grab his next fist, twisting with all my might. Austal howls in pain; I kick him in the knee, just to shut him up.

But then another hand is pushing me backwards, a glint of silver catching my eye before pain rips across my cheek.

I hiss in pain, agony burning through my face. Cres' face blurs before he disappears into the mass again, a shining sword locked in his hand. Austal stands there, blinking, as the fire seems to eat my skin.

"I'm sorry." I hear Austal says Why would he say that? I stagger backwards, trying to grab onto some sort of support. Bile rises in my throat. My head spins out of control. I stagger and stumble, unable to carry my own weight. I'm sure if Blair - or even Lancel for that matter - could read my thoughts, they'd happily twist the self-deprecating knife. Even as I'm dying, they'd love to kick me once more, just for the sake of it.

I wonder if Lancel truly knows the price for all of this? Something massive will snap his mind around, show him that it isn't all worth it. I know it has for me. I've been competiting to eventually die. Everything before this seems immature now.

"Thorn, quick!" Lancel's voice soon joins the mix, but it seems thick.

The spinning takes over and I fall down hard, unable to think clearly. I hear the approaching footsteps before I even know what to do.

"Thorn!" it's Lancel again, but this time, he's helping me up. But then he's letting me go and shunting me backwards, my back slamming against the mirror.

I finally see my reflection. It wasn't my cheek he cut; from forehead to chin, a single rip across my face that's bleeding red. The sight causes my insides to churn, bringing me down on my knees. My face feels sticky and wet, a few stray streaks falling down to my lips, the bitter taste of what failure seems to be. I couldn't even fight a single person.

Stars pepper my vision, and I slowly fall down. I don't know where Lancel went, but he's gone, their fleeting footsteps confirming that they must be going after Rotem and Lancel now. They probably assume I'm dead. The pain is so bad that the thought of death is pretty welcoming, but the sting of failure keeps me rooted to try and fight for it.

"Austal, get the girl! Cres, help me with Lancel!" a hardened, female voice says. I guess that must be Gloria. I fall down onto my side, suddenly feeling light. The room continues to spin, the light sharply cutting into my already contorted vision.

The voices begin to drift away as darkness takes over. I feel like a feather, protected, as if nothing could touch me. Blair's mocking voice doesn't feel as bad anymore. I don't feel the pressure.

But this isn't death, or at least how I pictured it. This feels different, my mind coming to a halt. Everything falls quiet as my eyes slip shut.

* * *

**Austal Eridote, District Four Male.**

* * *

With the District Eleven boy out of battle, I follow Gloria's commands. Compared to Lakyn, she's nicer, but a little bit more ruthless.

The District Seven girl - Rotem, I've heard a few times - doesn't see me coming until I'm thrusting her up against the wall. She grunts, head smacking against the cool slab. Her knee connects with my gut and causes me to stutter, but I keep the hold strong. She fights me, though, as I attempt to pull out the knife hidden in my pocket.

Rotem, however, catches on quick. Her eyes widen and she manages to throw herself out of my grip, and downwards, hitting the floor in a heap. I quickly move back, but her hand shoots up in a balled fist and slams into my groin.

The pain causes me to buckle as everything goes weak. I collapse easily, and she takes advantage of quickly patting me down for the weapon. Didn't she have a spear or something? I can't remember now, she must've lost it. Or she didn't have one. The pain makes it too hard to think straight.

When her hand clasps over the pocket that contains the knife, though, I react. I grab her hand and twist, but she promptly brings her fist down onto my throat, taking away my breath.

She pulls the knife free and begins to stand. I grab her ankle, the fire burning inside of me to do this right, to do something right. Cres will no doubt please Gloria, and ever since Lakyn decided to treat me as a puppy, they all think it. I need to change their opinions, to show them that I can do just as much, maybe even more.

I pull her down swiftly, but she fights back. The heel of her boot comes flying for my face and I barely have enough time to move to the side, cracking into my shoulder blade and causing me to scream.

My arm... the pain causes the numbness to return. It grows heavy and I have to vicegrip on her ankle, pulling her scrambling form with each time she tries to get away. I'm almost sure her face gets pulled along the pebbles and I instantly feel guilt knotting up inside of me.

I flip her over. She kicks again, landing into my shoulder blade once more. I bite down on my tongue until I feel blood flooding my mouth. It's the only thing to stop me from screaming.

I scrabble up her body. Wildly, she swipes with the knife, ripping open my uniform. On the second try though, I manage to overpower the weapon, grasping at straws, I suppose. With a flick of my palm, I'm able to disarm her, the countless times I did it with the practice dummy back in District Four.

The knife skids across the floor. Rotem decides to punch, but I grab the wrist and slam it down onto the floor, effectively pinning her there. She gasps and struggles as I place my knees either side of her body, keeping her down.

"L-Let me go," she pleads, still fighting. Her legs begin to kick, but just can't reach my body. She suddenly clenches her jaw, and the sad face turns stony. "Make it quick." she says coolly.

In that moment, I hesitate. I don't think I ever aimed to kill, at least, not a girl. The boy from District Twelve was mainly luck. He wasn't looking, he was weak, he was easy. But she's a fighter, someone who is trying to beat me. She isn't an easy kill and I can't help but feel in over my head. This, her, the arena, just everything... all I wanted to do was see what was out there, pass my family's yard.

I look for the knife nearby. The silver glints off of the mirror, bouncing back at us. Her head snaps towards it and I can see the hope and desire.

I weaken my grip. I throw myself off of her in an instance, lunging for the weapon. She seems to get up but she doesn't follow, her footsteps growing quiet.

Then, it hits me. I grab the knife and throw with all of my might, barely catching her fleeting form. It slashes across her thigh, bringing her down to the ground once more. I hear her whimper, still trying to get away. Just like a human, she's running. She all would like that. Really, she should blame her leader, Lancel, seeing as he targeted us. As far as I knew, we didn't have plans to attack them specifically.

My arm feels suddenly heavy. The pain makes me nauseous, making my head hum in agony. Slowly, I walk towards her, her whimpers penetrating my brain and making the knot in my chest grow larger and larger.

Gloria soon comes into view. "Austal, finish her," she says coldly. "We need to get out of here."

But soon, she spins around, Lancel swinging his flail as if he has nothing left. Gloria avoids him and manages to kick the weapon from his hand. His eyes go wide for Rotem before Gloria is backing him up into the corner.

I spin around - remembering Rotem - as she staggers through the once-mirrored wall, heading back into the thick of things. Cres quickly grabs her by the shoulders and thrusts her into my direction. I catch her, before a fist pummels my stomach. I gag, choke, before spinning her around.

I see Gloria, Cres now storming towards a weakened Lancel in the corner, bruised and beaten. I see her knife. She aims and throws in a swift motion. I can hear the metal whistling through the air.

Rotem struggles in my grip. It happens swiftly, but everything seems to slow down.

She gets the advantage and, using her knee, hits my gut. I buckle and weaken. She grabs me, and switches our position. The pain spreads out over my back, stemming from my spine. My legs instantly go numb, as if they no longer existed. Rotem lets me go and I fall down hard, the blackness cutting at the edges of my vision. I feel tears well in my eyes, blocking out any light or vision.

Everything falls dark. I hear frantic voices and hasty footsteps, rushing away from the scene.

Used as a human shield. In that one flat moment, I was taken down by my own ally by accident. Hands are soon roaming my body, flipping me over. Light pierces my brain as a whisper of a voice reaches my blocked ears.

"Austal... Austal... guys, I th-hink he mi..."

I think it's Cres. I smile weakly; he was the only one who ever cared for me, and I treated him like dirt because I envied everything he was. Somewhere, in my head, I apologise before everything turns so very cold. The pain in my arm soon disappears. Finally, for the first time in my life, I feel free.

* * *

**Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.**

* * *

I squeal when the cannon suddenly sounds, jumping back against the mirrors. Kristopher groans, turning around to face.

"Bro, I get that it shocked you, but man up." he says coldly. Slowly, his attitude is pissing me off more and more. I step back, looking at the mirror opposite me. Kris also seems to study the objects, waiting to know not only who it is, but how they died. With the mirrors being the way they are - and Kris arrogantly claiming that they target the weaker minds, though that's probably a bitchy jab at me - a younger tribute is dead. For some reason, I can't get the idea of it being Asya from my head.

The screen begins to fog, before the shadows and light soon becomes clear. Each part of me is on alert; I wouldn't tell Kris, though, because that's asking for another lazy joke.

The District Four boy appears with a grin on his face. He's prancing around like a horse, playing with the District Seven girl. But then she grabs him and spins him around, a knife effectively landing just under his neck. He falls, still smiling as the black blood pools around his lifeless body.

The mirrors stop. Light filters back in, and Kris hums.

"I doubt he was that amused," he says aloud. "At least that's another Career down. Dropping like flies."

I slowly readjust my backpack. "Yeah, I guess," I mumble. "But it still sucks."

"He volunteered. He was asking for a death."

Even his heart is turning black. The more and more I look in the mirror - or look to see Kris' reflection - I see him changing. He's becoming darker and more cold. If Ampry ever dies, I doubt he'll even give it a second thought. It's smart, don't get me wrong, but also heartless. No-one wants to sponsor such a thoughtless person.

"We need to keep moving," he speaks again, like he's reciting something. "Hey," he turns, smiling. "Are we stopping because you need a breather? Too much walking already?"

"Quit it," I hiss. "You think it's funny, but it just makes you look like a royal asshole."

His lips curl into a smug smile. "Sorry. I mean, it's only banter. God, you nor Ampry can take a joke. It's called trying to ease the mood. Do you want to be reminder about the imminent death that you might face, or would you rather joke around until the time comes?"

"You're not joking, though, you're being a douche." I narrow my eyes. "Besides. You could've reacted a little more sympathetic to that guy's death."

"He's a Career, Wayne. He asked for this. I'm sorry, when they volunteer with their bright eyes and bushy tails, they're asking to die," he steps closer. The air grows thick with tension. I clench my jaws; if Kris wants to argue, then fine. I won't back down, not when he's been egging me on the entire time. "I also didn't know him. I can't cry over someone I don't know. That's just irrational and melodramatic."

"I'm not asking you to cry. Seriously, do you even listen to me?" I exasperate. I'm growing more and more tired of him. I don't even know what possessed me to ally with him in the first place. "I'm just saying that turning around and saying he asked for it is lame."

"I don't want to argue. Let's go," Kris begins to walk, but for some reason, I can't will my legs to move. When he notices I'm not coming, he turns around. "You really need that much of a break?"

I breathe slowly, willing myself. You can do it on your own, Wayne. You know you can. "I'm not going with you," I slowly say, as if I'm not sure of myself. I'm not. I doubt I could do it on my own. But is it worth it, staying here and being berated and mocked at every chance? He's growing darker; he could easily turn on me. "This alliance is over."

His eyes grow hard. "Fine. You'll die as quickly as the others."

With that, Kris storms down the hallway and around the corner. It doesn't hit me straightaway. I stand there, blinking, mentally wishing that Kris would return. But after a few minutes of wishing, I know it's pointless. I sigh, swing my backpack on tighter, before walking back the way we came.

I make it all the way back to where we sat down - where I was mentally assaulted by the Gamemakers - before my stomach churns.

At first, I think it's because I'm hungry. But then the mirrors catch my attention as they grow dark. My heart hammers against my chest as I spin around, backpack slipping down my shoulder before the shadows swallow the mirrors whole.

A white, bulbous head soon appears as I'm sucked in. The head floats up as a suit soon emerges from the moving darkness. It moves forward, tears pricking at my eyes as fear takes over. I don't... I don't know what it is! I don't want to die! Kris!

I run without thinking. I can't even think straight, my flight mode kicking into overdrive. I drop the backpack at some point, lost to the shadows.

But the head keeps appearing, growing limbs each time. Hands and legs, long and gangly. A pinstripe suit that holds a lithe frame... white claws.

I run around a tree, straight into the man. My heart leaps and I scream, his white claw swiping at my face. The pain feels so real, burning my body and causing me to scream once more when I hit the ground. I scramble through the fake dirt and dead grass, desperate to get away. But he keeps appearing, at each corner and each turn, staring at me without a face. Each time, a little piece of me dies.

I scream harder and harder, pulling my throat apart.

The scenery of dark trees disappear. In the snap of my fingers, everything vanishes. I'm on the white pebble floor, fingers grabbing clumps. The backpack is in front, handles ripped apart and jagged.

It was all fake. Nothing was real. But then the backpack...

A red droplet falls from my face, landing on the floor. Everything slows down as I unclench a hand, bringing the dusted fingers to face. They come back red, and when I look at the now light mirrors, I see the slash across my cheek. My eyes widen, just as the white head seems to come out of the mirror behind me. I manage to scream one more time before a white claw slashes across my throat. First comes the burning pain that rips through my body, before sending me into eternal darkness.

* * *

**Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.**

* * *

"He's dead," Gloria says, emotionless, as I continue to look down upon Austal's bloody form, crumpled like a piece of worn paper. A sad smile is forever etched into his face. "Cres, we need to go so that they can pick him up, to take him back home."

Gloria did this. She hasn't even bothered to collect her silver knife, lodged at the top of his spine. She might not have meant it, but she actually took his life. Austal is dead as Gloria's hands, well, her weapons. Does she even feel remorse? I know she didn't mean it, but she hasn't shown any sympathy for taking his life. And not only that, but it resulted in Lancel and his allies getting away, even the unconscious one. They all got away and Austal died. His death was for nothing.

A cannon sounds. My eyes widen. Did that unconscious boy now die? I mean, he looked in pretty bad shape. When I look at the mirrors, though, I can see that it is a boy, but the one from District Ten. The fog stays this time, though. A figure attacks him, throwing him against the mirrors and allowing the boy to run, before jumping in front of him. When he's near, he swipes. He then vanishes. I look to Andora, her eyes look fearful. The white man emerges actually through the mirror and slices his neck open.

Just like that, he's dead. The mirrors really are full of tricks. For the first time, a chill creeps up my spine. Best be prepared for anything.

"Cres," Andora joins in now, still on the floor. Did she even fight? Did they even go for her? I can't help but look at her with bitter eyes. "We need to move."

"Oh, you can move now." I mumble.

Andora stands, her legs a little shaken. She moves over to Gloria, backpack in hand. "Cres," Gloria calls. It's all I hear; my name, my name, my name. They didn't want to know me before. Now, now that Lakyn and Austal are gone, I'm their bodyguard of sorts, their mindless monkey to use as they please. "Come on."

I take the first step away from his body. But then I go back and pull out the knife, discarding it to the side. It doesn't look right. He should be collected with some dignity. I take one final look before we head on down the hallway, leaving behind another.

"Wounds?" Gloria asks.

"None." Andora replies shortly. I have to bite my tongue, my fingers ghosting over the many bruises I can feel forming. But it doesn't matter; I've spent most of my life with them. It doesn't even affect me anymore. It's the norm for me. Another thing my Father prepared me for.

"Bruises and cuts," Gloria chips in. When you look at her, though, you can see she has nothing. Any wound she might have, it'll be under her uniform. "Cres, what about you?"

Neither of their voices are even sweet. Andora seems aloof, whereas Gloria is emotionless and seemingly cold. Austal might've acted cold towards me, but I could feel his warmth, on how he seemed like a good guy. He wasn't like Lakyn or Andora or Gloria. He was nicer, more naive. I'll miss his addition here. "A few," I quietly answer. "Nothing major. Nothing life-changing. I'm still breathing."

The air grows tense as we continue to walk. Why are they still here? Now that we've lost another, there's just no point. Andora and Gloria have no ties anymore. And, frankly, I don't think I even want them here anymore. In fact, I don't know why they've stayed this long.

"I think it's over, you know," I comment when we stop for food. Gloria looks at me, her eyes masked. "It just isn't going to work. Without Lakyn, without Austal, we have no glue."

"I agree," Gloria nods. I knew she would; I bet she's been itching to leave ever since Lakyn was killed. "Andora?"

Andora shrugs. "Sure. It had to happen at some time."

"So we agree. Right, split the supplies and the weapons. Everyone gets a fair shot," Gloria echoes my thoughts, though I don't know why they should. I won't judge. I chose this after all. I grab a backpack and my sword. Gloria takes her remaining knives, and Andora opts for a sword as well, considering she lost her dadao at the Cornucopia during the bloodbath. I mean, it's not like she lost it in the fight; she didn't even move from her comfortable position. "We'll split at the next intersection."

We walk down in silence. Andora limps a little, but her wound has pretty much healed. I'm grateful, I must admit, but it's awfully perfect timed. Just as the fighting is over and Austal is dead, Andora has a miraculous recovery. I can't remove my eyes from her as we hit the intersection, like Gloria warned. She turns to face us, the air between us still thick.

"I'll see you guys at the finale," she voices. My eyebrows rise, quickly switching my look to her. "I better see you both there. Don't let us down."

Andora snorts. "Wouldn't miss it. Not like we're not aiming for it, Gloria."

"You know what I mean," she narrows her eyes, before turning to me. "And I'm sorry about Cres. I could see you liked him," I nod curtly; I'd rather not speak about it. Gloria catches the hint, and nods herself. "Right then. See you later."

And with that, Gloria leaves down one way. Andora stands around for a moment. She gives me one long, last look, before walking down the next one silently. Suddenly, I'm alone. The Careers are well and truly finished.

It takes me a few moments to move. I stay there, rooted. My Father would be angry. He'd be pissed actually. But I don't care, not anymore, not now. Things are changing and I'll have to adapt. After all, it was one of his lessons before me between punches. That the best fighter knows how to adapt to the opponent's movements. Being the same means being predictable.

I move the backpack on my shoulder and walk down the final hallway. I pass the mirrors, seeing glimpses of myself. For the first time in a while, I smile properly, feeling proud of myself.

Nothing is going to stop me now. I have everything to win and everything to lose.

* * *

**Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.**

* * *

I need to move on. Onwards and upwards, for something like that. Everyone will kill eventually. Yeah, of course, everyone will be forced into it at some point. I'm just doing what everyone else will do in the future. I won't forget Lucia - I don't think anyone forgets their first kill - but I won't let it consume me. I want to win. To win, I need to detach myself.

But then they'll come, I just know it. I'm sure watching an emotional tribute is the most entertaining thing possible. So, I'll stay the same, but move on.

I pace pass the mirrors again, flicking the laser in my hands without thought. It bounces off of the mirrors, shining in the distance. I guess I was lucky; I knew that, though, when I saw before the bloodbath. I could be dangerous with this. I already am, with a kill under my belt. Ampry Erfinder, the murderer of an innocent.

Will it give me some credit? I hope so. That way, the Careers will stay away and kill themselves off. As horrible as it sounds, I killed Lucia by luck. I need to find another weak person to do it again. I feel like it'll be the only way I can ever win.

A lump forms in my throat as I turn the corner. Wayne is dead. I saw the... the thing, just slice his throat open. Kris wasn't viewed, so he got away? For some reason, it leaves me slightly unsettled. What has happened to Kris? I mean, I know he's beyond irritating, but nobody deserves a death like that Mutt... if it even is a Mutt. Frankly, I don't want to know, I don't want to bump into it. I wouldn't even know what to do to fight against it. It looked almost indestructible.

All I know is, his appearance has set in a new kind of fear for all the other tributes.

I continue down the path. You wouldn't even be able to tell if you were going the wrong way or not. The idea hits me. I dip into my backpack, pulling forth a role of sticky tape and a piece of cloth. I tear the piece into shreds, sticking one little bit onto the hallway mirror.

I'll do it for every corner. Each time I make a turn, I'll note it down. I'll be able to keep track that way. I smile slightly, hope swelling in my chest. I have the survival down pat, it just means the actual fighting and killing now.

I do it for so long, heading further and further into the maze.

It's only when I pull to a stop and apply another breadcrumb of sorts, that I hear a rush of footsteps. The hope wilts into fear, and I scramble for the knife in the backpack. Every inch of my body is on alert, but confused and dizzy. I can't even think straight, aiming for the knife that seems to be hidden under every fucking thing I had! Where is it?

"Ampry!"

I frown, snapping my head up. Kris comes bounding over, his face flushed red. "Kris?" I frown even harder. What does he want? Still. I pull the knife free from underneath a coil of rope, ready to stab if Kris turns out to be something he isn't. "What are yo- wait, no, how did you find me?"

He holds up a hand full of cloth and sticky paper. "You left clues. I knew it was you, just by looking at it. Very simplistic but a clever idea nonetheless."

"You idiot," I hiss. "They were on the mirrors for a reason. I was keeping track of where I was heading and where I've been!"

He smirks. "You were also basically broadcasting your location. Follow the trail, and it brought me to you. When I saw the first piece and worked it out, I just knew I had to find you," he pauses, swallowing. "I need your help."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?" I ask. "Is it because Wayne is dead? Which, if you ask me, ponders the idea why you either abandoned him or managed to escape from that... that thing..."

"We split up," he says lowly. "Wow, that sounds weird. I mean we split our alliance, and then he died. I don't know where he went or what happened. One minute he's being nice, and the next he's saying that the alliance is finished and he wants me to leave."

"You obviously messed up." I roll my eyes. I'm sure his idiocy put Wayne off. The boy deserves a medal for dealing with Kristopher this long.

"Yeah, sure," Kris dismisses. "So can I be with you or not? Remember about the magnets?"

Sadly, I do. I don't want Kris here either. I'm better on my own, and really, I'd rather be on my own than with Kris. He'll probably send me insane before the arena does. A small ding echoes in the air. I turn, watching the parachute come down very slowly. Kris sniggers as it hits my boot. "I think it's for me." I comment, picking it up. I scan the small message from Mercury, frowning the entire time.

Allies. As long as you're together, me and Micro can support you better. Nobody wants to be alone forever, Ampry -M

Even Mercury thinks it's some master plan. I mean, I'd understand if it were someone less annoying than Kris, but she knows my feelings about him. I swallow thickly, the words like hammers against my wants and desires for whilst I'm in here.

"Fine," I finally say. What am I doing? I don't even know myself. "We'll be allies. But only until the final ten. And, then, I want you to leave."

"No need to be icy, Ampry," he coos. "I'm sure we'll work something out together."

I nod, hiding my disgust. I hook the backpack over my shoulder and snatch the bundle of cloth and sticky tape from his balled fist. "Make yourself useful and place these on the mirrors," I hand them back to him, and he smiles. "Why are you smiling?"

"I'm sad about Wayne, but he dug his own grave," he says rather bluntly. His attitude should knock me back, but it's always the playful ones that are black on the inside. "Now I'm glad we're working together. Your notes from the scores have really helped me so far."

I smile slightly. "Really?" I ask. I bite down my smile though, because a perverted joke is bound to spill from his lips.

"Yeah," he nods happily. It lifts my mood and opens up the possibility of trust. I'll probably always dislike him, but I always welcome compliments. It's nice to be appreciated. "And Wayne, before..." he trails off.

"Well get going. You're not slowing me down." I say, before walking off and leaving Kris to it. I don't know if that story is true, but I have no choice but to believe him. Mercury wants him to stay and, I guess, a little bit of company - even Kris, which is the bottom of the barrel - is good enough for the time being.

* * *

**Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.**

* * *

The image begins. Bryony, skipping and prancing before she's cruelly cut down.

They're a comfort to me. With each image sketched out in the dark charcoal, I can feel my heart ease. Bryony didn't die slowly, she died quick. Quick and painless, I can only hope. Her corpse only smiles as it crumples at the bottom, before Asya pops out like a cartoon caricature, cackling madly.

She will pay. No matter what Rafe the bodyguard says, Asya will pay for not helping Bryony out in her time of need. Asya isn't strong, but she should care enough about an ally to throw herself into the thick of things without a second thought. But no. Asya is young and naive and needs all the protection, according to Rafe. But what about Bryony? What about her needs, and how she was just as naive, if not more so?

They didn't think about that. Rafe didn't think because he doesn't care. But then he stands there, babbling on and telling me that Bryony meant a lot to everyone, that everyone cared remotely about the girl they left to die on her own, cold and more than likely afraid.

Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I poke them away, still staring forward. It's an endless cycle. When I go away and come back, they show me the same darkened images of my best friend dying at the hands of another. Asya will pay. That girl - Caritta Husk - will also die easily. I won't stop until their blood is on my hands, just like Bryony's will forever be on theirs.

The motion plays out again. Over and over, never ending. I'll never forget Bryony because they won't let me even if I wanted to.

When it's over - and fire bubbling in my stomach - I walk back to the group. Rafe and Asya are huddled together, and I force down the scowl on my face. Probably plotting against me. Like Bryony, they'll run and leave me to the wolves.

"You okay man?" Rafe chirps. I glower, and have to force a smile on my face.

"I'm fine. Absolutely wonderful." I reply without trying to be sarcastic.

"You keep saying that, but you keep heading out over there..." he mumbles in return. Asya, over his shoulder, stands. She moves towards him and he quickly envelops her in a hug, still facing me. "We want to be a team. I want you to be okay, Josh."

He says it in a way that I don't believe. I heard them, I heard Rafe suggesting that they abandon me. He thinks I'm stupid; no, he thinks I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm emotional, I'm bitter, I'm angry that we did nothing to save her yet we have to protect Asya at all costs.

"I think we should move," Rafe suggests, prying Asya from his arms. "I think we can't hide anymore."

"We're not hiding. We're waiting," Asya inputs quietly. She looks at me, shrinking under my glare. "We... we were waiting for you to get better, Josh."

"I've been perfectly fine the whole time." I lie through gritted teeth.

They know it's a lie, just by the way their eyes seem to look down on me. They probably assume that I'm taking this too personally. But they didn't know Bryony like I did. They saw her scars, but never heard her story full of ridicule and mockery. And she was killed by a weapon that she often used to calm down the suicidal thoughts.

I wanted to protect her. But no, Rafe said get Asya first. I did as I was asked, and look what happened...

The mood soon disappears, becoming lighter. I smile sadly and nod, feeling the hope swell in my chest. It's like how we were, before we got here. I miss the Capitol more than I thought. At least there, no-one was dying or each of us was trying hard to please the other. "Yeah, no, I haven't been fine, but you know that." I admit quietly.

"You told us they kept showing you her death..." Rafe says quietly. "But, why do you keep going back if... if it's emotional?"

I knew they wouldn't understand. He'll never be able to understand until Asya dies. If - no, when - it happens, then he'll understand why you need to keep watching. It hurts, it's the worst thing you could throw yourself through, but it's needed because you fear that, if you don't watch, you'll forget what their face looked like or their hair colour, because you'll only ever picture them in their death position. By doing it, I can remember her piece by piece. I'll never forget her. She'll always be with me.

"I don't know..." I lie again. "I feel compelled to do so." I add, though that's not really a lie.

Rafe looks at me awkwardly. "I think it's unhealthy, dude. And you're creeping me and Asya out a little, I'm not going to lie."

The fire burns again. Oh, yeah, because I don't want to make them nervous when Bryony is dead or anything. You know, death is better than nerves apparently. I bite down on my tongue, trying to hide my newfound anger and hate for them. They don't care; they've never cared.

"...should we go?" Asya says quietly. Her small backpack is held in her arms. Obviously, she's prepared to go. I wonder why? Maybe the guilt is eating her alive. Good, that's more like it.

"Yeah," I smile slightly, but when I turn and grab another backpack, it falls into a scowl. I spin back to them and plaster on another kind smile. "Rafe, do you want to lead the way?"

Rafe begins to walk down one hallway, and we follow. Asya stays close to her special little bodyguard, as if she's scared of me. I saw her eyes and the way they looked at me. She's worried; she's worried that I might hate her for it. She can believe it because it's true, but I won't let Rafe know. I need to avenge Bryony, he just wouldn't understand. No-one will.

Asya won't understand why her death needs to happen. The images will forever be in my mind now. Bryony is begging for vengeance, her voice but a whisper in my head. It needs to happen. For Bryony's sake, it needs to happen.

I hope Rafe can understand why I need to do it.

* * *

******Fallen by Imagine Dragons.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

******Austal Eridote, District Four.**

******Wayne Fallows, District Ten.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**nb, I loved Austal, but his life and personality was too hard to capture and I had no plots for him. I'm sorry.**

**I also loved Wayne, Tales. He was one of my personal faves because I related to him on so many levels. Sadly, I didn't know what to do for him.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**POV that stood out the most?**_

_**Five more must die before we reach the final ten. Who do you want to see kick the bucket?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**I don't know whether the fight was good or not. A lot of you assumed that more than one would die, but frankly, they're too evenly matched. Austal is dead, and Thorn is pretty much unconscious. The others are fine and Andora is miraculously uninjured...**

**Slenderman is released. He enters the arena ;o**

**So yeah. More deaths to come. Five more tributes to die before the final ten, though. Nothing important to say, at least I'm not _that_ late, right?**


	12. Hundred

**Hundred.**

_The how I can't recall. Now I'm staring at what once was the wall._

* * *

**Andora Seville, District Two Female.**

* * *

There are fifteen of us left. From that, only three original Careers stand tall, excluding Lancel. He's made it more than clear he wants nothing to do with us, yet seems to act exactly like them. He's nothing more than another boy from the Training Centre, desperate to make themselves known but also individual.

I pace up and down the hallway, the mirrors distorted and blurred. They haven't attacked in a while. I take a deep breath, and push my back up against it. We all saw what killed that boy from District Ten. That... that thing, that's probably now roaming the walkways, finding another prey. Maybe they won't now? Now that the creature of the mirrors is released, they might leave us alone... although they haven't attacked me. I'd rather they didn't; I have no idea what they'd even do to me.

A small chime in the air happens, and a parachute drifts down. My heart clenches as I swiftly scoop it into my arms. I pop the canister, pulling out a small piece of cake. I frown; what the hell?

_Have some food. Wine and dine yourself, Andora. Things will get wild soon -L_

Lennox. I shouldn't be surprised. He's probably screaming for fire or something, whatever crazed pyromaniacs tend to do. But the words drum inside my skull. What does he mean, "things will get wild"? It leaves me unsettled. I swallow thickly, dropping the cake to the floor. I have no desire to eat, not now, not when he's thrown something like that at me.

A rush of wind breezes through the hallways, sending a spike of ice down my spine.

Next comes the footsteps. I'm barely able to prepare myself, before the pair from District Three are running around the corner. I grip onto my dadao and aim it in defense. Their eyes fall as they finally notice me, the girl looking particularly frightened.

"Why are you running?" I have to ask. Are they want Lennox meant? Or are they running from something?

"Why should we tell you?" the boy snarls, eyes alight with fire. "Get out of our way."

I step backwards. "I'm not stopping you." I answer shortly.

They don't move though. Both stand there, unsure, as I keep the weapon at my side. I don't remember either of them being dangerous. Then again, they probably think the same about me, and they have numbers on their side. I swallow thickly, ice running through my body. I hate this; I hate the idea of the unknown. Lennox should've been more specific, rather than toying with someone he should protect.

But then a hiss breaks through the silence, and the girl's eyes widen.

She leaps for her district partner. I hear no squeak from either of them, as the mirror nearest to them shatters, slivers of glass spat down onto them. Like an explosion, the others soon follow, tearing down the hallway.

I throw myself to the ground, feeling the shards hit my back and my head, cutting through my uniform. I hiss, curling up into myself from fear. I don't want to be here. I want to go home, to go and do whatever I did best... I can't even remember if I was good at anything. I'm not even good at this and look what happened.

The explosions continue, destroying whatever is in sight. Any tribute nearby would be alerted straightaway. My stomach knots and acid sprays the back of my throat. I scramble forwards - aiming to take out on of the District Three pair in the hopes that their death will stop it - but when I look up, there's no-one there. My eyes widen. The mirrors cease their fire, and I look at the ground. Shards of glass lay where their bodies should've been. It was like they were never there.

I turn to see a space of clear pebbles, where I was. The shards shouldn't have taken up their space...

And it hits me, like a slap to the face or a cold knife to the chest. Was they even real? I never... I never touched them... did they exist?

Great, I'm doubting my own sanity now. Who knew mirrors could do something like this. I stand, swiping the glass from my legs. My thigh stings as I brush my fingers over it, the remainder of my flesh wound still fresh. It was a good ploy to use for the time being. I was able to avoid the entire fight because the likes of Cres and Austal were too busy trying to fight and protect. Now, it's all down to me. I can't hide behind anything anymore.

I just don't know whether I'm going to be good enough. I didn't get this opportunity for skills, but for annoying Evander to the point that he chose me out of spite. All because I didn't want to do what he wanted of me. I wanted to be my own person, so his words were: "Well in that case, Ms Seville, you can die or win as your own person. You're entering the Hunger Games."

Did I have a choice? Course not, I think bitterly. He held my family as a hostage, their blood spilt if I didn't follow his orders. Everyone - even Cres - knows the price for not following rules. I might not like people, but I care for my family, as much as they grate on me.

The mirrors blacken and fear strikes my heart. But the white appears, filling out letters that become a sentence.

_No sanity will be left untouched. Even the strongest will fall._

I smile slightly. Good, now go and get Cres and Gloria, and make my job easier. I'll need all the help I can get to win.

* * *

**Rotem Everly, District Seven Female.**

* * *

"Thorn is getting colder," I mumble, feeling the ice that coats his flesh. I can't stop the wound either, though Lancel shouts at me to do so. It's too late; Thorn has pretty much gone. "Lancel, did you hear me?"

"Yeah," he nods, face numb of emotion. I think the idea of someone getting hurt must've hurt him or something, because he hasn't touched Thorn since we saved him, only commanding for me to save him. I can't, though. I barely know any survival skills myself, let alone how to stop the flow of blood. Lancel's decision has broke this alliance and I don't think he's realised this. "Rotem... is he..."

I nod. "I don't think he'll last much longer," I answer quietly. "He won't... he won't wake up."

Lancel lets out a strangled cry, and I instantly watch as his facade crumbles. "What have I done..." he mumbles. "I killed him. He's dead because of me."

"And the boy from District Four," I reply with instead. "I used him as a human shield," the words make my stomach knot uncomfortably, the thought that I willingly sacrificed his life for mine. I should mourn him, but I can't bring myself to remember the memories of seeing his eyes widen in surprise, or how blood dribbled over his lip. "Lancel..."

"What?" he snaps, face turning red. My eyes widen and I shrink a little, my fingers still held against Thorn's wrist, hoping for a pulse.

It takes a few moments for me to even think the words, let alone say them. "Pity kill..." I barely say. "He's probably suffering. I don't know. It seems more... humane."

"Humane," Lancel scoffs bitterly. The more time I spend with Lancel and when I was with Thorn, the more I've learned about people. Lancel's reckless attitude only encouraged Thorn to his obvious death. And now we're speaking about him like he's already gone, which he is. I loosen my fingers. "He's dead, Rotem, and I was the one that killed him!"

"You didn't... the boy from District Four did... or from District Two," I don't really remember who got who, it was so chaotic. "We need to do something."

Lancel stands briskly. "Here," he shoves the backpack into my head. "Use it as a pillow." he adds coldly.

I tuck the orange backpack under his head, feeling his once soft hair now dry and hard. I think I read something about all that, I don't know. Each time I try to think rationally, a lump forms in my throat and sickens me. I didn't know Thorn that well - as well as allies could've - but he was nice, and before, he showed a moment of weakness. It meant nothing to Lancel, I know that much. But now he cares. I think he does at least. He just sits there, eyes looking at Thorn's lifeless body but not really looking.

He blames himself. I think I blame him too. If he wasn't... it's the Career in him, impulsive and yearning for violence. Me and Thorn should've known this beforehand. I bet my Mother is eating this up, the fact that Rotem forced herself into an alliance, only with an ex-Career and a boy who wanted to prove himself too much.

"He's dead," I say, and my answer is the haunting cannon that resounds around the arena, before trapping itself in my skull. "Lancel, he's dead."

Lancel looks stricken. "I know. I heard the cannon as well..." he whispers.

The mirrors begin their taunting movement. I shuffle away from Thorn's body, willing tears to mourn for my fallen ally. But nothing comes. Nothing can come, because I don't understand... I've never lost someone before...

The scene plays out, starting with Thorn's grinning face. The boy from District Two moves, drawing on Thorn's body. Thorn only seems to laugh and encourage him, before falling down. It was him, Cres or something.

I wait for the fire of vengeance to take over, but it doesn't. I'm not like this, not like a fighter or warrior. I'm a coward who used another boy to save myself. I feel dirty. Lancel moves over, and a cold hand falls onto my shoulder. "Let's go. They'll come for his body." Lancel whispers.

I stand a little shakily. Everything rushes to my head and makes me feel dizzy. Lancel hands me my spear and a backpack, before walking ahead, without sparing Thorn another look. It seems cruel to not even say goodbye properly. Carefully, I pull out a small dagger from the backpack, bending down to slide it into Thorn's adjoined hands, before laying it down on his chest.

People will think he died a hero or a warrior like he wanted to be known as. It's the least I could do. My whole body feels numb as I finally walk away, leaving Thorn alone. I hastily move to catch up to Lancel, who steps carefully and quiet.

"Thorn will be okay," I mumble. "He's not in pain anymore. I think, at least."

"Don't be so naive," he practically spits. I wince again, falling behind him. "Thorn died because he was stupid. Because I was stupid for charging in, and because you was stupid for finding the passage right into them."

His words take me aback. "W-What?"

"You and me are to blame for his death as much as he is. We can't blame Cres, he was simply the executioner whereas we set up Thorn's trial," he stops. I can't even will my body to reply, Lancel's cold attitude now really sinking in. He's blaming me? I only... I only followed his orders and wishes... my mood falls and I can't stop the frown. Lancel doesn't bother to turn and check on me, though. "We move on now. Make his death important somehow."

I swallow thickly. "You want revenge...?"

"Because that worked well," he says, voice lower. He hisses, as if he's in pain or something. "No, we play this better. We go after the other tributes, not the Careers. Take the numbers down so the Careers are forced into us, into a trap we can set and control. We'll have the upper hand then."

He says he's not a Career, but those words sound like it. The arena has already morphed him into something he so adamantly claimed he was not. "...okay," I reply obediently. "...sure."

But I'm not sure. I'm not sure about a lot of things. About Lancel, about his attitude, about this arena and this situation and Thorn's death. Yet, I follow Lancel as he walks away, because I have nothing else.

* * *

**Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

We're never going to get out. We're trapped in here, forever, victims of the arena. I feel dirty just thinking about how I could die, a toy to the hands of the Gamemakers.

I bang and bang against the mirror, desperate and tired. I feel weak. I feel useless. Ellery pulled us into a trap, and now I'm fighting for a way out, for the pair of us, whilst she sits down on the ground and composes whatever great idea she has.

"Caritta," Ellery says, just as I'm about to thump the mirror once more. "I highly doubt it's going to open for you," she stands, face hardened. "So, if you could, please shut up. Your whining is doing nothing to improve the situation."

"Sorry..." I mumble. "I just... I want to get out of here..."

"Have you not realised the advantage of this?" she soon says, eyes scanning me. She always looks like she's looking down upon me.

"I see the disadvantage, not the advantage," I reply coolly, unable to forget those images. "I don't want to be mentally attacked once more. Out there, at least we can run. We're sitting ducks!"

"Whilst the other tributes kill each other," her lips peel into a smile. "Have you not realised that, roughly, four tributes have died since we got trapped in here? A lot more could be injured. Even maimed. Us, we're safe, because we're trapped. They'll continue to pick each other off until we're released."

Four tributes? One of them is Thorn. I don't know how to feel about that, considering we were never close or anything. But he was alright, I suppose. His alliance would've been great if they had abandoned that weird girl from District Seven, the one with no tact. She was the one that probably got him killed. Not to mention that Ellery's district partner is dead as well. And a Career, and the boy from District Ten. She's right; the tributes are falling like flies and we're reasonably safe, if you don't count the demonic shadows.

Still, I'd rather leave. There's no denying that Ellery is feeling the air being sucked from her lungs. I'm almost sure the room is growing smaller and smaller.

Ellery sits back down in the middle of the floor. "Ellery..." I have to ask. She hums, looking up. "What did they show you, you know, the shadows...?"

Her face hardens. "It's none of your business," she echoes, voice hollow. "I'd rather not verbally help them along."

I didn't like what I saw. I hated those times, where people would throw rocks at me, telling me that I should kill myself, or that I was nothing special just because my Daddy was richer than most. I spent most of my life alone, without real friends, only the hired ones. I hated them all. For the way they made me feel, how they made me even hate myself.

Silence falls over us. Ellery falls quiet, head tipping downwards. She was really affected by what she saw... if only she would tell me. Come to think of it, she has been acting strange since then. I don't know whether her anger has become passive, or Ellery is simply adapting... but either way, she isn't so cold or abrupt. The arena usually breaks people, but it seems to have calmed the beast inside of her.

I sit down too, both exhausted and scared. I still bang weakly against the same mirror, my palm turning into a sore, swollen mess. "Please," I begin to beg quietly. "Just let us out. I want to get out of here," I press my head against the cool material, tears pricking at my eyes. "...please."

My eyes fall shut briefly, but when they open, I see the shadows coming. My breath hitches in my throat and I snap my head around, seeing how big this one is going to be. But it's not going to be big. The puddle of darkness is about the size of my head, and only in front of me.

_"Kill her..."_ a chilling voice appears out of nowhere.

It catches me completely off-guard. My eyes widen, my mouth falling open. I blink a few times, a chill creeping up my spine.

_"I'll let you free if you kill her..."_

I swallow thickly, unable to breathe. "K-Kill her?"

_"For one to live, the other must die," _the mirror whispers seductively. _"Value your life above her. Take away her beating heart, and you will be free..."_

The idea is ridiculous. But, there's something about those words that hit home. I've always valued popularity over my own life. That incident - the bullying - that made me want to change things. I wanted to be popular and liked, I wanted to find the mean girl and befriend her, just like I did with Ellery. But she doesn't care about me. If she got the message, I'm sure she'd be plotting my death straightaway. I need to be my own person.

"Yes," I reply, running my fingers lightly over the cool surface. "I'll kill her. I want to get out of here, and I'll do whatever is necessary."

The darkness disappears. I stand up, my mind whirling. How could I do it? Can I even do it? I killed that girl from District Eight without question, but for some reason, the idea of taking out Ellery makes me feel uneasy. At the same time, though, I want to get out. The next attack could come at any second and I don't want to live through those experiences again. And, according to the Gamemakers, one of us must die. Call me selfish, but I'd rather be that one that does survive.

It's settled. I have to do it. I'd have to do it eventually anyway, if I wanted to go home. But I have to be clever about this. I have to make sure that Ellery doesn't notice any difference between us.

"You've stopped banging," she mumbles. My heart freezes, but Ellery isn't even looking up. "Good. If only you did that before I got a headache."

"It was proving pointless." I answer.

Ellery snorts. "I could've told you that ages ago. Pretty sure I did, too. The Gamemakers will let us out when they're ready."

Of course, she doesn't know that they're setting the plans into motion. If only one can survive, I choose me. I'll always choose me.

* * *

**Jericho Castillo, District Seven Male.**

* * *

I hand Arietta the granola bar we have left. Her lips dip into a frown, hands pulled to her chest. "Is that our last one?" she asks.

"Yeah," I nod. "But I want you to have it. I'm sure we'll find something else." I add with a smile, just to ease her possible guilt. I don't want Arietta to feel guilty. I want Arietta to feel safe and secure with me, just like in training. I want to be her friend. I broke all of my moral codes to talk to her, and I won't let them - nor our budding friendship - go to waste.

She takes it gently. "You really shouldn't put me first," she answers, pulling back the packaging. "We're equals."

But we're not. We've never been, but Arietta thinks we are. I'll always put her above myself. I killed for her, and I'd happily do it over and over again. "I know," I lie. "I'm sure sponsors will come in."

"So do I." she smiles sadly.

With her district partner, Rafe, and Rotem, I'm starting to believe there isn't money for us. Arietta said that Rafe was praised and adored from the very beginning, for being an outer volunteer. Rotem, well, I have a suspicion that she's become a favourite of sorts. Her interview practically destroyed her, but at the same time, made her more appealing. She's a nice person though. She deserves it, but so do we, and I hope Maple nor Spruce are being bias.

We sit in silence for a few moments. I check over the backpack a few times, the answer coming back that we have no food whatsoever. We have medical supplies, and a packet of carving knives, but nothing spectacular. Nothing edible. We don't even have water. One backpack wasn't enough, I guess, and the though leaves my chest in multiply knots. I don't want to go back there, back to the Cornucopia. We escaped with ease and I only fear we won't this time.

I don't want to risk it - risk Arietta - for food and water. Something we could or pray from sponsors.

But dire needs will come. I swallow, the lump in my throat large and my tongue furry. I haven't had any water for about... I don't know. You don't know the days in here, only the death count slowly falling.

"Jericho?" Arietta soon speaks. I look up, a sense of calm washing over me. When I look at her, I forget everything. I forget where I am or the end for one of us. "We don't have any food or water, do we?"

I can't lie to her. "No," I admit. "I'm sorry."

Her lips break out into an unsure smile. "Don't be sorry. But... but we need that stuff... we've gotta go and find it," she decides. "I know we've just got here and everything, but I think it's best. Don't you agree?"

Sadly, I do. "Yeah," I nod, feeling the weight on my shoulders. It had to happen eventually. "Go which way though? To the Cornucopia?"

"I believe so." she smiles warmly.

So, I stand and help Arietta up, packing the remaining equipment into the backpack. As we start to walk, I notice something between us. I don't know what is it, but Arietta doesn't feel right. Admittedly, she hasn't for a while, but I always assumed she'd go back to the way she was. Yet, I'm sure she's scared of me, the one thing I didn't want to happen. I don't want her to assume that killing the District Four girl would happen again. It was to save her, and that was it. No lust for power or enjoyment. A brutal kill to cement the danger I present, so they would leave us alone, leave Arietta alone.

As we pass the mirrors, Arietta seems to get closer and closer, leaving my heart in a fluttering mess. Being around her provides a comfort I never knew could exist.

As we reach the corner, though, I stop, managing to hear a faint noise. It's like a hum or electrical hiss. Arietta edges closer to me, my hand pressed onto the small of her back, bringing her closer out of the need to protect her. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. I went blank when Arietta said she was almost attacked. I can't miss out on anything again.

It happens quickly. I barely catch the sight of the mirrors fading into nothing, but then I realise that they're doing their job, only differently. You can see through the mirrors onto the other side, but it's not completely gone. Like it's invisible. Arietta gasps, pressing against my side, as the large white head comes into view.

The Mutt she claimed she saw.

The suit and long arms, hands almost near the floor. It's freakishly creepy, the way the face has no expression, but yet, seems evil. I slowly back us up against the opposite wall. My fingers twitch, curling for the tomahawk hooked onto the backpack.

The creature moves with slow movements, like the wild animal that sometimes found their way into District Seven, looking for scraps of meat. My heart lurches; it's probably hunting for tributes.

"It almost got m-me," Arietta says quietly, her voice a tremor. "N-Now it's h-hunting."

We saw it escape the mirrors. "Maybe... maybe it's lost..." I say, despite knowing the truth.

But soon, it leaves the hallway. My heart picks back up and I release Arietta, missing the warmth against my hand. I notice her hand twitching, before her whole body violently shakes and tears spring at her eyes. I quickly wrap her in a hug, but I can feel how hesitant she is in my arms. It hurts, but I can't blame her.

"It'll be okay." I soothe into her hair.

"It won't be..." she mumbles against my top, surprisingly calm. "I don't think it'll ever be okay again..."

I want to disagree, but I can't. She's probably right. Nothing will be the same now, not between us nor in this arena. It'll always change and I don't know whether we can adapt or not. But for Arietta, I'll have to try.

* * *

**Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.**

* * *

I make sure to keep Asya in my sights, whether she's by my side or not. Joshua's drastic changing emotions is something to worry about. One moment, it's like he wants to snap our necks, and then the next, he's smiling and admitting his problems. It leaves me on edge, as if he might react or act to whatever happens. It doesn't help with the mirrors, either.

But it begs the question: is Joshua actually seeing things? I haven't seen Bryony's death since after the bloodbath... maybe Joshua is losing the plot...

"Asya, can I borrow a knife?" I ask. Asya looks frightened, but she knows deep down. I need to be prepared for anything.

Carefully, she hands me the knife, which I hastily tuck into my pocket. Being up front, Joshua doesn't notice, but that's good. I don't want to spur him on at any point. "Rafe, you aren't thinking about doing it, are you?" she asks quietly. When I don't reply, she sighs. "...oh."

"Hey guys." Joshua suddenly says. I freeze, looking at the unstable boy.

"What's up buddy?" I fake a smile.

He smiles coyly. "Intersection. Three different ways to go. I was... I was thinking we could split up? Take a hallway each, and then report back."

I swallow thickly. Is this his plan? He could go after me, or Asya, for that matter. Split us up and then attack. It's not the most ridiculous plan heard of. Still, I can't let him know what I'm thinking. Truth of the matter is, if Joshua knows, he can plan around it. It needs to be a surprise, so that he isn't prepared to fight back. "Sure," I smile. You can practically see Asya tighten from my side, but I gently take her hand. "But Asya should go with someone." I counter.

Joshua evens out his eyes, which used to hold the kindness he shared. "Yeah, I agree. Asya can come with me, if you want?" he suggests, a sickly smile peeling on his face. He's playing us now.

"Or she can come with me," I pull Asya a little closer to me, never letting my eyes leave Josh. "No offence man, but I think a bit of alone time will be good for you. Asya will be fine with me, I'll protect her."

Tension fills the air. We stand there, in the middle of the hallway, just staring at each other. My stomach knots and knots, paining riding through my lower abdomen.

After a slight pause, Josh tilts his head slightly, seemingly trying to look cute or innocent. But nah, it's too late. I know that he's lost it, that he wants Asya's blood for no apparent reason. It sickens me to know that the arena has changed him so drastically. "No I insist," he says. "You're stronger, whereas I need some support."

Asya squeezes my hand a bit tighter. I can tell she doesn't want to be left alone with him. "But Asya needs a strong support system. If something happens, she'll need help and, as you said, I'm stronger." I smile slightly. Hair falls into my eyes, but I don't dare remove my eyes from him.

He laughs. "Okay, okay. You guys go together one way and then I'll go another. Meet back in the middle?"

"Yeah," I nod. "See you soon."

Josh begins to go down one of the ways, whilst me and Asya take the other. The tension soon disappears with Joshua's absence.

"He really does want me dead..." Asya mumbles. "I didn't... I wanted to save her..."

I squeeze her hand again. "It's not your fault. The arena has changed him, not you."

She doesn't reply, and silence takes over. At least without Joshua, I don't feel so on edge. It scares me to think that he might just attack, because I might not be able to save her. And I want to save her. She doesn't deserve death. But the silence is also unnerving, and I still look over my shoulder, as if expecting someone to come running out at me and Asya.

Asya sighs deeply. "I think I sent him off the edge..."

"The arena, not you," I correct her. "Stop putting yourself down, Asya," I stop, turning her around. "Whatever is going on inside Josh's head is all down to him and the arena. He's the one that is torturing himself with that image."

But... but maybe we aren't helping. I don't know; I've lost my trust in my ally, but at the same time, I feel guilty that, accidentally, we're to blame. Was we sympathetic enough? Did we mourn her? No, we didn't. We ran, and I promised Bryony a song that got interrupted. We never really put her at rest, and ease Joshua's conscience. We never helped him like we could've.

Gently, I tug Asya along, hoping to make her smile. She falls in time with my steps, our hands linked. She's like the little sister I've always wanted. The mirrors pass without fault, easing the knot in my stomach more and more.

We reach another intersection. It all comes crashing down, and I frown, focused on something in the distance. "Asya, can you wait here whilst I check ahead?" Asya nods, and I move forward, gently prying myself from her. "I'll be but a few seconds, I promise."

Asya tugs the backpack closer to her shoulder as I walk off. I don't know what I've seen, but it was something. Maybe even another tribute. I need to know without worrying Asya or putting her in danger. I pace myself closer and closer, the mirror distorted into another image. I don't know what it is, but it's clouded and dark, as if the night sky. But then white words begin to appear, causing my heart to pitch inside of me.

_He's coming._

A scream pierces the air. Asya!

I start running without thinking, the lump in my throat making it harder to breathe. I can't think straight - I just run, desperate. I reach the intersection, but Asya is nowhere to be found. My breath hitches in my throat as I notice the backpack - Asya's backpack - abandoned on the floor. My mind begins to blur, before another scream resonates in the air again.

"Asya!" I shout, the fear and terror spiking my heart, turning my blood into ice.

"Rafe, help!"

I run down the hallway, following her voice. The worse things possible begin to take form in my mind: did that creature get her, the one that's roaming the hallways? Or even worse, did Joshua get hold of her like he wants? I run around the corner, barely feeling the pain as I clip my shoulder on one of the mirrors.

It happens in a flash. Josh - holding Asya's face with his two hands - turns and frowns. "I'm sorry..." he says calmly, before jerking her head back against the mirrors hard, a sickening squelch forever imprinted in my mind.

Her body crumples and anger takes over. I barely recall gripping the knife, nor lunging forward with red eyes. I see a glimpse of me in the mirrors, stabbing the knife into a moving Joshua. It lands in his shoulder, and I pull back, cutting him deeper.

Josh screams. I come back to reality, Josh's fleeting form being the reminder of what I done. I don't even look at the bloody knife; I simply drop it to the ground, numbness taking over. I swallow thickly. Did I just attack him? But he hurt... Asya!

I spin and throw myself to the floor in an instant, cradling Asya's head in my lap. "A-Asya, p-please, you're going to be o-okay," I stutter, shaky hands stroking her hair. "Don't die on me, p-please."

The cannon sounds in response. I scream, anguished, pulling her body closer and allowing myself to cry. It hurts. I never knew it could hurt this much. The agony sweeps through my body, ripping apart whatever compassion I had left. I only had a little girl to remind me of why I volunteered, why I gave my life up, and now... she's gone.

I can't bear to let her go. Even when time passes by, I can't leave her alone. I lay her head down on the floor and scoot away, leaning up against the mirrors. I tuck my knees under my chin and watch the metal claw encase Asya, stealing her away forever. She should be at peace now. Nothing can harm her.

I should want to harm Josh. To kill him, or hurt him, or hunt him down. He broke this alliance. He took Asya's life to feel better about losing Bryony.

An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. I should want the same. But, I can't bring myself to hate him, at least not enough to want his blood. I pity him more than anything. The arena has crushed whatever humanity he had left.

I won't let them do the same to me.

* * *

******Hundred by The Fray.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

******Thorn Revan, District Eleven.**

******Asya Novik, District Ten.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Inverness, Thorn wouldn't have survived. I thought it was his time to go, and whilst people didn't understand him like I did, he'll be sorely missed.**

**Olive. Well, Asya was a great little with her bad luck, but like Thorn, it was her time. I had nothing left for her. She won't be forgotten.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Tribute you want as Victor, at this stage, and why?**_

_**Any deaths you predict in the near future?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Sorry for the delayed update. I won't make excuses, but I had to rework a few things for this story, such as plots and deaths and that.**

**I should be on schedule, but eh, don't hold me against that. I never realised how hard writing Lost was until I got into the arena. It'll still be roughly a week each time, give a day or two. As numbers dwindle, though, it should become easier again.**

**Not much to say... except Slenderman is on the loose, it was the famous Mutt that Liole had created, and it will hunt. ;)**

**Final thirteen. Two more will go next chapter!**


	13. Smiling Faces Sometimes

**Smiling Faces Sometimes.**

_Smiling faces sometimes pretend to be your friend. Smiling faces show no traces of the evil that lurks within._

* * *

**Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.**

* * *

_"Cres..."_

I look up, blinking a few times. I heard my name again. But where? I look around, feeling my gut knot itself up. It sounds so familiar, but I can't point where I know it from. It feels like I've heard nothing else. I should know, I want to know, but at the same time it scares me. It scares me to no end. I might find out and regret it. Then again, I've regretted most of my actions so far, I think bitterly. I wish I made more of an effort in knowing Austal. In keeping Gloria and Andora, though I can't help but hate them both for what happened.

I wish a lot of things were different. But it'll never happen. And dwelling will destroy me.

_"Cres..."_

I stop, turning to face the mirrors. I can't help but snarl, staring straight ahead. "I know it's you Gamemakers," I hiss. "Don't think you can torment me forever."

The shadows, on command, begin to swarm like flies. I step back, clenching my fists. I won't back down, no matter what they show me. I want to do well. I want to win, to prove people wrong. To get there, I need to face whatever someone throws at me. They begin to morph and shape into something that clenches around my gut.

Austal._ "I don't plan on tormenting you forever,"_ the Shadow-Austal whispers, a wicked grin revealing razor sharp teeth. _"I plan on tormenting you until you break. Until you break like every other person has already."_

Not for one second do I believe that. Gloria? Oh no. She's not the type to just break. Neither Andora, for that matter. Even the other tributes look pretty solid. "You're lying." I glare, holding down any fright and fear that bubbles.

Shadow-Austal smirks._ "If you say so,"_ he laughs, before fading away. The shadows stay, slowly creeping around the edges. _"Cres... don't you recognise your father's voice? We know everything about you. You can't hide from us as much as you can hide from your father."_

Everything hits me at once. The emotions cause me to stagger backwards, collapsing against the mirrors. My knees tingle and turn to gelatin, taking me to the floor. "No..."

All the flashbacks and memories assault me at once. The kickings and beatings. Being told I was useless and pathetic, and that I'd never amount to anything. That I was destined for the bloodbath and I had no choice, because he didn't want such a lowlife in the family any longer. It was either become a Victor, and leave... and I was so scared to be on my own, to leave everything I had known behind... I wasn't strong enough.

I never stood up to him. I never told him that he was the lowlife. That it wasn't me that destroyed everything, it was him. I was a child... his child...

The shadows morph back into Shadow-Austal, the same smile on his face. It looks so cold. Hardened and lifeless, nothing like what Austal used to be. _"Everybody is breakable, Cres Rhodes. Everyone will fall to the mirrors."_

And like that, it's all gone.

It takes a few moments to gain the will to move. Everything has shot straight down to my core, bringing back things I didn't want involved in the Hunger Games. I wanted to focus and work on what I know. I wanted to forget about my past and not let it define me in here. Until now, I've barely thought about him. Now I'm going to do it all the time.

I pull myself to my feet, shaking my head of pebble and sweat. I shake my limbs and collect my fallen weapon, hooking it back into the palm of my hand.

Maybe the arena will break people. But it won't break me, not without a fight. I swallow down the emotions. I feel the burn as the fleeting thoughts of my father are demolished, hidden deep in the darkest parts of my mind. I need to focus. To use his teachings and beatings to motivate me. To use Austal's death, the people I've killed... they have to spur me to continue, to conquer the mirrors.

First thing first: find Gloria. I feel like our discussion was left unfinished.

* * *

**Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.**

* * *

"We have nothing left," I mumble, the sight of our supplies pretty surprising. With a small amount of water and minimal food, our situation isn't looking so peachy anymore. Here I was thinking that the Gamemakers were being nice, but they still haven't let us out... and despite losing our district partners, neither me nor Caritta have received a sponsor. "Absolutely nothing."

It's clearly got something to do with Nebula. Spiteful, she is. Saw Cliff's death as the end of District Five's chances.

Caritta continues to stare at the mirrors, ignoring me. I don't pay much attention to her, though, because Caritta is falling apart and I'm not picking up the pieces. You can see it in her eyes - they're not as wholesome anymore.

I mean, it's obvious what the Gamemakers are doing to her. I heard the voices first, though. They came to me with their whispers and promises. I would recognise the reaction from anywhere. If Caritta believes they're talking to her specifically, then she's ridiculously self-centred. She didn't even notice them whispering their temptations in my ear because she was too busy pounding on the mirrors, as if they'd suddenly open up and let her go.

"Caritta," I groan, looking up from my lap once more. "Do you think they hate us?"

Her eyes widen. I have to bite down on my bottom lip, just to hide the smirk. "W-Wh-"

"They keep telling me to kill you," I let it out, flattening my lips. "They hate us that much, they want me to kill you," I make sure to push the point, just to see her reaction. I don't have plans to kill her, believe it or not. I entered this alliance because I believed that Caritta was worthy, not because I was aiming to backstab her. "Did they tell you?"

She steps forward, unsure, before backing up to the mirror. "No," she says calmly. My eyebrows shoot up, my mouth dropping open. So she's lying to me? "They haven't said anything t-to me... maybe it was just your imagination..."

Inside, something ignites. It claws at my skin and sets it alight, burning bright. I swallow as much of it down as possible, but the betrayal still stings. She lied to me. There's no denying it and I'm too smart to know that it was my imagination. They spoke to Caritta, and her lie could only mean one thing. She's planning something. Should I wait? I slowly dip my hand into the backpack nearby, fiddling with my little light bulb.

"Maybe..." I shrug. "I guess I'll never know until they attack again."

Silence falls. Caritta moves across the room, tracing her fingers along the glass. "Can you pass me the other backpack?" she asks.

The one with the knife. "Sure," I say, handing it to her. The other backpack contains her machete, which is much better and defined. It'll easily overpower whatever she has planned, if she even has one. It'd be rather stupid to act so hastily. It's not like they're doing anything but taunting us with nightmares. As much as I hate it, I'm not dead. "Anything specific you wanted?" I challenge her.

"Not really," she answers. "Just wanted to be prepared."

My fingers run over the button. Every nerve in my body is on edge, ready to strike. I won't be a fool to whatever she wants. Because, yeah, it's safe to say that I don't trust Caritta anymore. That one little lie has destroyed her possible hopes. As she does her thing, I keep the corner of my vision on her, waiting and watching carefully. She could react at any minute. Like a wild animal, Caritta will act on instincts. And in this kind of situation, with emotions running high and the constant threat of nightmares, she'll act completely irrational.

Caritta continues to pace around, trapped. "Caritta, please," I stress. "There is no way out. You need to learn that your pacing is doing nothing but wearing me out." I challenge. Will she act?

"I'm sick of this," she snarls. "I can't cope. I'm trapped and I can only ever see myself!"

Personally, I thought someone like her would enjoy that. But apparently not. "You're losing the plot."

"Maybe I am..." she whispers, turning around. I barely catch her words, but I can't avoid her eyes, or the way her lip twitches. "Maybe I-I can't cope anymore... maybe I d-do want out of here..."

My thumb brushes over the gadget. "Then you don't understand the situation we've been put in," I put on a brave face. "You'll never get out of here unless everyone else dies."

I keep my eyes locked on her. For a moment, Caritta looks ready to cry - tears springing to her eyes - before it turns cold. "I guess you're right..." she mumbles. She thinks she's clever - hiding the knife behind her back, but obviously forgetting about the mirrors and what they actually do - as she steps forward. "...and I'm sorry."

Caritta lunges forward, eyes flared and wild. In one swift motion, I flick the switch, and lob the gadget into the air. Like in my private session, blue lights bombard the entire room, and with the maximum reflection of the mirrors, it's even more intense. Caritta stumbles and pauses, giving me enough time to bring out her machete, still stained in someone else's blood.

The light confuses her. I squeeze my own eyes shut, barely being able to see as I move forward hastily. Caritta slashes blindly, but I swipe the knife from her wrist. I don't expect her knee to come flying into my gut, nor a hard fist to smash me around the face.

My eyes fly open from pain and the light draws me in, turning and tossing my stomach around in butterflies. Sickness smothers my insides, causing me to stumble. I see stars and darkness, all rolled into one. I see flashes of Caritta, charging towards me through the flashing beams. I barely move in time before her knife finds my arm, piercing my flesh. I scream - I scream from the pain, the betrayal I knew was happening, from the fact that I feel weak - as I try and fight myself away.

I remember her machete briefly, clasped in my hand. I slice, cutting the air. Caritta screams, but with the light, I can't see where I hit.

So I hit again. And again.

Her knife falls from my arm, ripping the agony through my body. Fire burns on my skin, bubbling through my veins as the pain devours me.

I don't stop hitting. I can't see a thing, but her cries and pleas and desperate howls into the air are enough to know that I'm aiming just right. Spray after spray of warm blood splatters over my skin, twisting my stomach even more.

When the light fades, I can't even look. I see all the blood, splattered on the floor and my uniform, ominously dripping from my machete, before vomit scorches the back of my throat. I hold it back and swallow it down, turning the opposite direction. But her image is projected everywhere, from every angle, showing every little piece of Caritta that I wish I didn't see. I see the wounds. Her hollow face. Her dead eyes...

_"You're free,"_ a whisper hisses through the air. _"Go forth and murder for victory."_

I drop the machete to the floor, and collect the clean knife. Yeah, thanks a lot for that.

* * *

**Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.**

* * *

The mirrors continue their taunt. No matter where I go, the images are there in black and white, dancing out the acts I've committed.

I watch with absent eyes as they show me murdering Asya once more. Bryony's image has long since vanished, eaten up by the Gamemakers newfound, twisted idea. Why show his district partner? Let's show his first kill instead. First kill... I'm bound to have more.

A lump forms in my throat as I see Rafe, ever so valiant. He probably hates me. I took the person that meant the most to him. But, Bryony was taken from me, and I had to suck it up. Rafe can do the same. He's nothing special, nothing important. Rafe is another tribute like the rest of us. If the likes of Bryony can die, then so can he. He might die at my hands. He might not. I don't care, as long as Rafe - ever so perfect and special Rafe, so pure and golden - bleeds red just like the rest of us.

My shoulder throbs in pain as I slide down to the ground. I won't forget what he did. I actually felt bad for killing Asya, for allowing him to see. But then he attacked me, and that pity slowly burned into anger, fiery flames that devoured any compassion I had for the younger boy. Let's mourn Bryony, he said, all the while keeping Asya under his thumb so they could plot against me.

I slide the outfit over my shoulder, revealing the wound. Nothing too damaging. A flesh wound, if anything. It throbs in agony as I slowly roll my fingers over the marred skin, dried blood caking the surrounding flesh. It's something to draw my anger from. To remind me that Rafe was willing to kill at the time.

I saw his eyes. I saw the way they turned red when Asya crumpled to the floor. He was a rabid animal. A monster unleashed.

Perfect Rafe is not so perfect after all.

I smile as the mirrors turn black. This time, I'm ready to see my actions, just so I can see Rafe take the shot he's been wanting to do. He made me leave Bryony for Asya - he basically sent her to her death.

But, as the mirrors turn black, I realise that it's for something else. A cannon resounds in the distance, shaking the walls. My heart hiccups in my chest and I lean forward, intent on seeing who else has fallen. Part of me wants it to be Rafe. The other part is hoping that he's still alive, just so I can take it myself.

It's two girls. I growl under my breath as one turns out to be Caritta Husk, the other her ally.

One died? My heart stills. My breathing slows down. I clench my fists, cementing my jaw shut. Caritta better be alive. She better have a beating heart, just so I can punish her for her crimes. If she died... no, there's no thinking like that. She hasn't died. She's a monster, and they're almost invincible. Bryony's killer can't have died... no...

But the shadows play their wicked tune. Caritta and her ally fight, bloody and brutal. Her ally constantly slams a bloody machete into every part of her body - from chest to shoulder - before effectively sealing her fate with a final slash and a wicked grin. A scream bursts through my throat, out into the air. No! No, no, no!

I swallow down the tears. Bryony died for nothing. Her killer saw no justice. Even with Asya's death, I can still feel her haunting whisper against my ear, dragging itself down my spine. She's not happy. She wants more. Asya was never enough. Caritta was never enough.

Bryony died... for nothing. I can't... I can't avenge her anymore...

I'm up in a flash. With my fist balled up, I swing for the mirror. My knuckles crack against the glass, a sharp sensation turning my fingers numb. I punch again and again, until blood is splattered in one place. It cascades through my fingers, over my knuckles, down to the white floor below. Red drops ruining the purity. I punch again, creating a crack.

That's when the mirror hums, and I'm thrown back. It happens so fast. The air whistles in my face, before the world blurs as I slam against the opposite mirrors.

I blink a few times, willing myself to move. I struggle and claw at the floor, a dull thud pounding behind my eyes. Every bone in my body wants to quit. But I can't, not whilst Rafe is alive and Bryony's death is still in vain.

_"Kill Rafe for me,"_ she whispers, so delicate and soft. I lay there, motionless on the floor, wrapped in her sweet words. _"He's the only one left. Kill him, and I'll be free. I'll be happy, Josh."_

Rafe. He has to die. "Yes," I mumble, pulling myself up. Blood continues to drip from my fingers, my eyes staring ahead at her image in the mirror, a gentle wind blowing her hair. She looks free, but there's pain in her eyes. Tears lean heavily on my eyelashes, emotions clogging up my already dry throat. It hurts to see her in so much pain. I step forward, placing my bloody hand to the glass. "I'll do it for you, Bry. I only want you... you to be safe."

Her eyes turn fearful. _"I'm never safe whilst he's alive..."_

My hand falls limp from the mirror, leaving a crimson handprint. "Anything for you," I mutter, bending over to collect my knife. "Absolutely anything."

* * *

**Kristopher Midden, District Three Male.**

* * *

The Gamemakers think they were clever with that trap. Andora from District Two, apparently running into us and being threatening? I highly doubt it. The girl is the weakest Career alive, and was probably the weakest Career beforehand anyway. There's no way she'd make it out alive against both me and Ampry, even if Ampry is more brains than brawn.

Ampry nurses the cut deep in her cheek, from the shattering mirrors. "It doesn't matter if she wasn't real. The attack was," she hisses through gritted teeth. "Kris, what are you playing at?"

I poke the mirror again. "I know more about this than you do, Ampry. I know what I'm doing."

I don't want to tell her my secret, though. The one me and Wayne discovered before his untimely death, or even more untimely than his sudden growth of balls. It's my own personal discovery, and unfortunately, I don't want to share. Not when it gives me an advantage over her.

"If you say so," she pulls her fingers away, stopping in her stride. "I don't know where to head..." she whispers to herself, because she isn't one for discussing things with me that much. "We could be going in circles."

I scoff. "Babe, your sticker idea was a little reckless, you have to admit."

Her warm eyes snap into a glare. "Yeah, I understand that now," she sighs. "I was only thinking in the moment. Being irrational."

I quickly stole her "stamps" of sorts. I knew that it'd only lead to trouble, but she only saw it as a personal vendetta against her abilities and mind. Of course it wasn't, but Ampry didn't see it like that. Sometimes she can be a little bit too self-centred and obnoxious. "I understand." I smile, peeling myself away from the mirror. "Do you wonder whether Andora got hit as well? Like, she saw us or something?"

"One of you is enough." she rolls her eyes.

"Don't be hater," I smirk. "You can't resist me, otherwise you would've rejected the alliance offer."

She turns around, eyes narrowing. "I agreed because not only did Mercury tell me to, but because your ally died just before. It was pressure and guilt more than anything," she clarifies. "Not because I think you'll be of some help."

I place a hand over my heart. "That wounds my soul."

"If you had one," she smiles sickly sweet, turning away. "Now, do you have an idea where you want to head now? I don't want to be the leader all the time."

I highly doubt that. Something tells me she thrives off of it. I point forward and we walk, keeping our weapons and backpacks close by. I fall behind Ampry, watching her movements carefully, mentally noting the way she holds herself. It'll be time soon. I'm not stupid; this alliance isn't going to last much longer. I want to jump ship and take what I can, whilst I can, to improve my odds for Victor.

Ampry is no Wayne. She won't go down easily.

Down the hallway and again, mirrors passing by, you can feel your sanity slipping. I'm honest; I know I'm going stir crazy, the only thoughts and sights being of myself. Even with Ampry, I'm alone, alone in my thoughts and surroundings, yet the fear settles so deep within you, you can't shake it away.

I fondle the knife in my pocket when we slow down to grab something to eat. I watch carefully as Ampry bites into the apple, leaning heavily against the mirror. Unlike me, she's made a kill, yet she shows no emotions over it. I haven't bothered to question her because Ampry will jump and become defenseless, and then she'll sniff that something is up and everything would be ruined. Still... I do wonder whether it's changed something inside of her.

"You aren't eating?" I look up at Ampry's voice, her eyes piercing and lips twisted into a frown.

I hold the dried nuts in my hand, shrugging. "Nah, I feel too sick for it. Or maybe it's butterflies from being around you too long."

Truth is, it's more nerves. I know she'll fight back. Is she worth it? Is killing her that important? Mercury and Micro would flip... but truthfully, it had to happen eventually. I'd just prefer to do it because it'll give me the edge over the others, or at least put me on par with them.

I need a plan to strike. I bite my lip, looking around. "Hey, Amp?" I blurt out. She hums, looking up, apple juices dribbling down her chin. "Can you see if there's a banana or something? I'm not feeling nuts... hehe."

Rolling her eyes, she turns and bends over, heading for the backpack on the floor. I take my moment swiftly, grasping it with both hands.

I lunge forward with the knife, aiming for the spot right between her shoulder blades. At the last moment, though, Ampry spins around and screams. The knife misses her completely, bouncing off of the mirror. My eyes barely widen before the backlash happens, throwing me backwards into the opposite wall. My head cracks against the glass, sending a wave of pai through my skull. Everything suddenly throbs and aches as I force myself upwards, knowing that Ampry is either preparing to fight or flight.

Instead, as the dull glaze over my eyes disappear, I see Ampry pointing a fine laser and knife towards me. "I knew it," she hisses, her hand shaking violently. "I knew you'd betray me. I always knew you were a coward."

I slowly pull myself onto my feet. Ampry waves the knife at my face, keeping her back pressed firmly against the mirror. "It had to happen eventually."

I throw my knife. It hits the wall, letting my lips curl into a smirk before the sonic wave throws Ampry onto her ass.

I move swiftly, grasping the knife and kicking her one away. A cry breaks the deafening silence drumming in my ears, Ampry's body weakly moving on the floor. I stab downwards, but she avoids the attack. I grapple with her wrists, trying to pin her, but she keenly knees me and then kicks me off of her. Everything rushes at me when her boot collides with my shoulder, knocking me down.

And just like that, I know it's over. I claw myself upwards, but Ampry has the fallen knife, aiming it towards my chest. I let out a scream and it plummets into stomach, bringing blood into my mouth. There's no pain, no fire or agony. The knife pivots in my stomach, before the world turns black at the edges.

I hear the soft sound of footsteps against the pebbles, before I fall into warmth.

* * *

**Gloria Lavelle, District One Female.**

* * *

A cannon shakes the ground, stopping me in my tracks. I look around, keeping hold on my knives. I don't trust the Gamemakers one bit - it could just be another trap to play against us.

But, the mirrors begin to cloud and I let out a deep sigh. The next death plays on the glass, revealing the gory details of how the boy from District Three became the next victim of the arena. His own ally killed him, but it seemed that he took the first move. In a sense, he deserved it. Everyone deserves to die, including me, and Cres and Andora. No-one is clean, not anymore.

I don't bat an eyelash as the shadows disappear. In fact, I'm only surprised that they haven't been in full swing. Ever since we started this journey out, they've done nothing but toy with people. But they're slowing down now. Bit by bit, they're easing up on us.

It doesn't feel right. It leaves me unsettled and sick. It's like if you knew the day you'd die, you'd dread every moment up to it.

I shake away my thoughts and continue my pace forwards, constantly moving. I don't want to stop. I don't feel safe enough to stop.

It's the one thing I miss from Cres and Andora. At least as a pack - no matter how incompetent Andora was - we had each other's back. I could close my eyes or take a breather, without worrying that someone would pounce and cause me to fight... even though I did, and Lancel appeared with his motley crew of outliers. I don't know. It's hard to think anything properly through in here. It's the one thing I miss about District One - you were able to get away from the prissy teenagers and enjoy your own thoughts, without worry. You could try it here, but I highly doubt your thoughts would be pleasing.

Each time I want to think about something else, it comes back to meeting Cres and Andora in the finale, ready to fight. It goes to my knives that sail through the air. The one that pierced the little girl, or took out Austal by accident... and then Cres blames me. Two deaths, and both completely by accident.

Does it make me a failure? Am I doing something wrong, that I can only kill when I'm not aiming too? Lyra and Austal. Dead and ready to be buried, the victims of a cruel, misguided knife.

It affects me more than I like to admit it does.

I stop at the corner. With careful eyes, I peek around the bend, just to make sure that no-one is down there. Safe, I go, keeping my pouch of knives tight in my hand. You never know what might happen.

And then, it happens.

One moment I'm walking idly along, unable to even look at my own image. The next... I'm being thrown across the room, landing hard on my back, the air chased away from my lungs.

I rub the dull thud from my eyes, straining it to look. As my vision turns back to normal, my heart pauses. That creature, standing in the middle of the hallway, his plain face just staring straight through me. An icy claw racks down my spine, plucking up any hairs that it can find. I frantically search for my knives, abandoned nearby. I claw along the floor towards them and, in one fluid moment, I pluck the pack open and free a knife, aiming it straight ahead.

But... but the creature is gone.

I duck, just in time for a white claw to swipe where my head was moments ago. I scramble along the floor, my heart pulsating in my throat. Another claw slams down into the pebbles hard, shaking the ground. It puts me off and I stumble, falling right into his apparent trap. His elongated fingers stretch and rip across my thigh, bringing about a new type of pain that I didn't think was possible. I howl, throbbing the knife as hard as I can.

My aim is off as the blade lands in it's shoulder. It screams - a distorted cry between an animal and a gurgle - before fading away.

For a few seconds, I breathe heavily, straining my hearing. I need to see if I can hear him, so I can avoid him. I'm so scared... my hand violently shakes, poising another knife. I swipe it back and forth, prepared to fight the monster.

But then a few minutes go by, and I'm almost sure that it's not returning. I let my body calm down, curling my wounded leg towards me. I gently touch the fresh cut, red and torn open. I hiss under my breath as I clean the wound with my fingers, making sure that the... the thing... didn't have any poison or acid on his fingers. My skull and heart throb in time.

It'll come back. I just know it, deep down in the bottom of my chest, I know that it will hunt me for revenge. The Gamemakers won't be impressed that their creature got injured.

Yet, I don't care. I let the tears flood over my eyelashes and bury my face in my hands. I don't care anymore.

I have no will to do it anymore. I can't be tough, not forever, not when I can die at any minute.

* * *

**Smiling Faces Sometimes by The Undisputed Truth.**

* * *

**The blog for this story is _lost__ hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Caritta Husk, District Eleven.**

**Kristopher Midden, District Three.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Ethan, Caritta was a great character, but I felt like I didn't do her justice.**

**And then Vix, Kris was someone who balanced on the line of practical joker and cunning mastermind. I enjoyed tipping him over.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Final ten is but one away. Who do you want and think will kick the bucket?_**

**_Favourite character so far, and why?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**After a lot of deliberation and internal thinking (and complaining to Chaos) I've decided to shorten chapters.**

**I'm struggling with this story at the moment, though that's no secret. However this time, I'm going to get through it with clever thinking, not misery. Chapters will get shorter anyway, but yeah... it needs to move faster.**

**The moral of this chapter is... everyone betrays you, particularly those close to you. Eh. I had this one planned for some time now.**

**Oh! And Josh's bloody handprint is the image for this story. Perfect, right? ;D**


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